Chapter Text

"This will be our oath and our act of possession" Teleny, 110

Sirius rarely visits his parents. He stays out of their manor as much as possible. It is a big house on vast planes of land, with enough space to keep out of his parents’ way. Yet, he prefers to put as much space as possible between them. He'd put a whole ocean between them if the new country weren’t filled with heaps of uncivilised people. So, he settles for England most of the time, although the English are only slightly more civilised than the Americans.

He only lowers himself to visit his parents at the behest of his sister. She has always been his priority. He would do anything for her, even sit through hours of his mother’s biting remarks while getting drunk on expensive reds.

So, Sirius took the journey from Paris to Aquitaine at her request. Sirius likes Paris. He has a charming home near the vacation abode of the Potter family, English nobility whose son he calls his best friend and brother in mind. It just so happens that said friend, James Potter, was visiting his mother in Paris and subsequently visited Sirius.

But his sister gets what his sister wants, so Sirius arrives at the Black Manor.

The greeting between Sirius and his parents remains formal and brief.

The dinner, however, seems twice as long as required.

His mother is complaining about the servants, the state of France, the economic stagnation, Prussia and Bismarck. Then she tears down any fashion, music and literature trend she can think of and requests her third glass of wine.

“You’re getting old,“ she says to the servant, “if your hands are too jittery and you spill wine on my dress, I’ll have you beheaded. Oh, what am I saying? You are too irrelevant to get beheaded.“

So are you. Sirius thinks and empties his own wine.

His mother then calls her husband old and fat, but not as fat as Sirius’ sister. It seems a miracle that she found herself able to squeeze into her dress this evening. It makes her look like an unsuccessful courtesan. Not at all, actually, she looks too cheap for that. No, instead, she looks like a common harlot.

Sirius looks at his sister, who barely reacts to their mother’s comments. She looks too thin, Sirius thinks, too thin and too sad and yet, too indifferent. He must hug her later.

After critiquing her daughter from her feet to her loosely curled hair, Madame Black finally turns to her son. He is a miserable excuse for a son, of course. He ruins the remains of the good reputation his family name has across the continent and his grandfather’s home country, England. The rumours are atrocious, and the truths even worse.

In contrast to everything she said before, she is dead on with her assessment of Sirius.

While she gestures for another glass of wine, Sirius’ father straightens up and clears his throat.

“Since you are here, Sirius, there is something we need to discuss with you.“

With those words, his sister flinches and looks at him.

“You see, your dear sister is not getting any younger, and my health is declining. So, we have decided she has evaded her duty for long enough. It is time to find her a good husband.“

Sirius looks at his father, then at his sister. She looks back at him intently.

“A husband?“

“Yes, indeed.“

“Isn’t she a bit young for such a thing? I mean, taking a husband, that is scarcely ever a good idea.“

“We are not here to discuss that,“ his mother cuts in. “It is decided. She must marry a good man from a good, wealthy family. If anyone is willing to feed her and look at her at all, that is.“

The wine must really mess with his mother’s perception. His sister is easily one of the most beautiful girls in the country. Any gentleman friend Sirius has ever had to introduce her to take an immediate liking to her looks and disliking to her brain. She has her own head, which men find unbecoming in women.

“Since I am in no condition to leave this house-“

“Fat, lazy swine,“ the Madame interrupts her husband.

“The task of finding a suitable husband falls on you.“

“Me? Out of the question. I’m not finding anything of the sort for her.“

“Yes, you will. End of discussion, Son. You are the heir to our house. That does not only mean you can walk around the continent, breaking hearts and ruining good women. It comes with responsibilities too.“

From his tone, Sirius knows arguing is pointless. Telling them that he is not ruining any woman’s reputation is the contrary of helpful, too, he supposes.

After dinner, it takes his sister about two seconds to pull Sirius away from the servants and parents into the empty library and slap his arm.

“Ow, what was that for?“

“You can’t let them marry me off!“ She whisper-yells. She always whisper-yells.

“I don’t think either of us has much of a choice.“

She slaps him again.

“You can’t. Do you hear me? You can’t. I can’t marry some self-absorbed French man and be his wife! I will kill myself. Do you hear me? Kill myself, indeed!“

He goes to hug her, but she pushes at his chest.

“You won’t kill yourself, ma petit. Look, I know it’s not what you want, but maybe I can find a nice man for you, and then it won’t be too terrible. At least you can get away from them.“

“No, you’re not hearing me, Sirius. You are never listening to me. No one is ever listening to me. I’m not going to be anyone’s wife. I can’t do it. It's not what I am. Not a wife, or a daughter, or a girl! None of it!“

Sirius looks at his sibling, confused. “None of it? Whatever are you talking about?“

She stands up straight and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I am not a woman. I am a man.“

Sirius blinks a few times. “What?“

“A man. Like you. Well, more intelligent, but like you. This body is wrong, Sirius. It is utterly wrong to the last pore, and so is any title bestowed upon me, and I will not add the title of wife. I will not have anyone's children and suffer a life as a lady.“

“Sœurette, I know being a lady isn’t ideal, but to say that you are a man is a bit drastic, don’t you think?“

She slaps him again, this time on his cheek. “Of course, you don’t believe me. Of course, you ridicule me. You people of narrow mind. … I thought at least you would show me sympathy. Your tastes are as scandalous as my own.“

Sirius doesn’t question how his sibling knows about his tastes. He was never the intelligent one out of the two, so the other’s intellect always seemed wonderous.

“I don’t ridicule you.“

“Then take me in earnest. You make me be anyone’s little wife and force me into a masquerade of womanhood, and I will kill myself.“

Sirius tries for another hug. This time he is allowed.

“Okay,“ He whispers. “I do what I can, I promise. Don’t hurt yourself, petit. How would I ever be happy again if you did such a thing?“

If not a sister, then a brother. Sirius rather has a brother than a dead sister. He has always been the intelligent one. If he says he is a man, it must be the truth. Sirius knows, however, that he won’t be able to convince his parents of this. Any effort is pointless.

He will figure something out, though. He’ll think of something. He was always good at getting out of trouble.

“I love you, mon petit,“ He whispers and kisses the top of his brother’s head. “Do you want a different name then, as a man?“

He shudders against him. Sirius can almost feel the relief coming down on him.

“Regulus,“ He whispers into his chest. “My name is Regulus.“

Sirius kisses his forehead again. “I will figure something out, Regulus.“

***

So it comes that two days later, Sirius comes rushing into the Parisian Potter residence, disregarding all protocol and pushing past the Butler, yelling, “James! You have to marry my sister!“

Unfortunately, James and his mother are currently having tea in the drawing room.

The Countess Euphemia looks up, quite alarmed, before her lips settle into a pleasant smile.

“Sirius, how good to see you.“

Sirius straightens up at once. He holds the Countess in deep regard and would rarely dare to annoy her.

He crosses the room to greet her with his forehead to her hand. “Forgive me for running in here unannounced, my Lady. It is a pleasure to see you as always, but I am afraid I must steal your son for a minute.“

“Of course, darling. Men always like to talk about marriage to women without the women.“

“You’d be surprised,“ Sirius mumbles and looks at James. The poor fellow still has half a biscuit between his lips and stares at Sirius from behind his fashionable, oval gold-rimmed glasses. Sirius finds them ridiculous.

“Sorry, what?“ James asks around the biscuit. His mother tuts and gives him a look. He quickly swallows and washes it down with tea.

“I need to talk to you. Now. It’s urgent.“

“But we’re having tea.“

“James,“ Sirius says intently, “Please.“

The only persons Sirius ever says please to are his brother and one particular lover who likes to tease him by withholding his affection. So, when he says it now to his friend, James stands up at once, excuses himself to his mother and takes Sirius into the next room.

“What is going on?“

“I need you to marry my sister.“

James frowns at him. “What?“

“You have to marry her. Wed her. Be her husband. Take her out of the country.“

“Your sister?“ James switches to English, not trusting his French enough for this conversation.

“Yes.“

“Just so I know, we are talking about the same person: tall, slender figure, beautiful black hair, ivory skin, silver eyes, always scowls and frowns, with an affinity for hitting you – that one?“

“Yes.“

“Sirius, years ago, I commented in passing about how pretty she is, and you almost ripped my head off. Now, I’m supposed to marry her?“

“I see how that might sound confusing.“

“Do you?“

“Look, my parents want to see her married by the end of the year. I can’t let that happen. I’m not asking you to love her or anything. Just marry her, get her away from my parents, get her to England, fake her death and introduce Regulus.“

James just stares at him.

“What?“ In his astonishment, he sounds so perfectly English that they might kick him out of France.

Sirius sighs impatiently. “My sister is not really my sister. He is my brother, apparently. He doesn’t want to be someone's wife or a mother but be a man like us. So, get him away from my parents and take him to England. That is all I ask of you. I will figure out the rest.“

“Okay, okay, slow down. You're not making any sense.“

Sirius sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose. “All right, uhm… Do you remember that case in London? It was all over the news – some actors were accused of conspiring to commit sodomy. One of them lived with another man – Lord Clinton? – and always dressed in women’s dresses and called himself his wife and Lady Clinton – I think the poor fellow killed himself. You remember?“

“Uhm, vaguely? You know I’m not keeping up with gossip from London.“

“Anyway, it is like that with my brother. His body may be of a woman, but he says he is a man in all other things. Not a daughter, sister, or wife, but son, brother, and husband. He wants to live as such. And you will help me make that possible. You only have to stay married to him for a little while. Just until his sudden death doesn’t seem suspicious anymore.“

James still looks at him like Sirius has gone mad. But Sirius knows James is the right man for this endeavour. James is loyal above all else, with a strong sense of justice that doesn’t hinge on legislature. He takes in former prison folk as servants and never utters a word about Sirius' tastes to anyone of high standing. If anyone helped him and treated Regulus right, it would be Lord James Potter.

And as expected, he agrees.

***

The meeting couldn’t have possibly been more awkward.

Sirius’ parents are sitting opposite James. It looks like an interrogation. Probably because it is an interrogation.

Sirius stands by James’ side while Regulus sits apart from the group, sewn into a pretty green dress. Their Mother must have instructed the servants to tie the corset so tightly that his breasts bulge out of the fabric every time he breathes. Allegedly, men who love like James appreciate such a thing. Regulus’ face is a perfect mask. He won’t give anything away, but Sirius knows he is seething.

“I take it you are a Lord?“ Sirius’ father says.

James is sweating and keeps readjusting his silly glasses.

“No. My father is an Earl, and I am his only heir. Until my inheritance, I have the title of Viscount, of course. I hope I won’t inherit too soon. I mean, I love my parents. I don’t want anything to happen to them-“

Sirius gently squeezes his shoulder. He is rambling. He is always rambling when he gets nervous.

James clears his throat.

“My family rules over a small county in the West of England. After a wedding, my parents plan to move to another part of it, into Lion’s Keep, and I shall remain at Lioncrest Manor, the family estate.“

Sirius’ father nods and sips his tea.

“And that marriage,“ Walburga speaks, “you intend to be with my daughter.“

Within the first few minutes of this meeting, James made a grammar mistake in French, and he won’t ever get on Walburga’s good side again.

James nervously looks over towards Regulus.

“Yes,“ he says quickly and then looks back at Sirius’ parents. “If she’ll have me.“

“Why?“

“Sorry, what?“

“Why?“ Walburga repeats, “Why her? An English Viscount wants to marry this ugly duckling?“

“Ugly?“ James sounds genuinely distraught when he hears that word. “My Lady, that is the most beautiful person in the world.“

“By English comparison, maybe,“ Walburga rolls her eyes and drinks her tea.

“By all comparison, I’d say. She is pretty and intelligent, and confident. Any man would be lucky to marry her.“

“Indeed, indeed, indeed,“ Sirius’ father says quickly before his wife can make another biting remark. “But England is so far away. We would never see our child anymore.“

That’s the point. Sirius thinks and looks at Regulus, hoping he finally understands what they are doing here.

“Yes, but a county in England is about as good as it will get with this one,“ Walburga grumbles and lazily gestures towards her child. Sirius wonders what is in that tea of hers. “Even if it is in the West.“

“So,“ Sirius claps his hands. “It is decided. Lord Potter asks for her hand in marriage, and you give your blessings, right? You can talk about specifics of the dowery and locations at a later date, possibly in the presence of the Earl and Countess. Oh, what good news all around, a wedding is afoot.“

Sirius doesn’t allow his parents to protest but instead calls on the servants to prepare dinner.

It doesn’t take long for Sirius, James, and Regulus to be alone in a room together.

Regulus is angry. He is breathing so hard that his breasts almost pop out of the dress.

“This is obscene. Do you want me to loosen that corset for you?“

“What is the meaning of this?“ Regulus hisses. “You promised me, Sirius!“

“Calm down, would you? I have a plan.“

“I am not going to marry you, Potter,“ he whisper-yells at James. “I would rather drown myself in a lake.“

“Regulus,” Sirius catches his hands and makes him look at him, “Listen. I’ve told James about what you told me.”

“You-“

“And he will marry you and get you out of here. You can live with him in England for a while until we figure out our next steps. You can be called by your name, wear the most fashionable suits in England and be treated as you wish.”

Regulus looks at him out of big, grey eyes. Hope is gleaming in them. He looks over at James, who offers a gentle smile.

“You have nothing to worry about, Regulus,” James says softly, “You will only be my wife by law. In all other aspects, you can live as you want to.”

“James’ estate is far away from most civilisation. It is gorgeous there. No one will question you or expect you to play the part of Viscountess. You’ll just be a friend that comes to live with James while his wife becomes terminally ill.”

Regulus simply hugs Sirius without another word.

***

The wedding is quite charming, though horribly English. They celebrate in France, as it is customary to celebrate at the bride’s home. Regulus looks breathtaking and makes a great effort to look enchanted by James. James is rambling something about “beautiful” whenever he lies eyes on Regulus. So much so that Sirius has to kick him.

The honeymoon is set to take four weeks, taking the train through the continent, spending a few days each in Italy, Spain, the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the German Empire.

James and Regulus rarely talk.

Then it is finally time to depart to England and James’ home. His parents have given up the family manor, claiming it is best for newlyweds to fill with children. They themselves moved into a sizable manor and rule from there.

Before departing for the wedding, James had called on all his servants at the estate.

“As you all know, I am to depart for France within the week for my wedding. I want all of you to listen very closely: I will return with a spouse, but you will not address him as a Lady or Viscountess. His name is Regulus, and I need all of you to treat him as such. You may call him Lord Black or Lord Regulus. I suppose we will be lawfully wedded, so you may call him Lord Potter. You will prepare a bedroom near my own for him. We will not share a room or a bed. To visitors, you will refer to him as family of my wife. My wife, you will say, is dreadfully ill and in no condition to receive visitors. I hope you understand what I am asking of you. If not, let me spell it out: Above all else, I need your loyalty and your discretion. Most of you have run from something or other in your life. You may have an inkling of what he is going through. I will not tolerate any of you addressing him as my wife or by his birth name. Likewise, I will not tolerate gossip leaving this household. Dismissed.”

He then called his most trusted servant to him. His friend and head of staff, Mr Lupin.

“I ask you as a friend as much as your employer, Remus, that you keep an eye on this situation.”

“Of course. You can rely on me.”

James nodded. “Sirius is placing his trust in us. Any maid that you hire must be briefed. When we return from the honeymoon, have a tailor and hairdresser ready. He will need a new wardrobe and possibly a new haircut.”

“Of course. I will take care of it.”

“Have an ear out for how the rest receives my commands. No tolerance, Remus. I want them out of this house before Regulus joins us.”

“Consider it done, Sir.”

“Very good.” James sighed. “Sirius will bite my head off if I mess this up. And his brother is even worse. He is scary.”

Remus smiled gently. “May I ask a question, Sir?”

“Go on.”

“Lord Regulus. Is it a new identity out of necessity or his own personal desire?”

“Personal desire.”

Remus nodded. “And will Monsieur Sirius Black join us when his brother arrives?”

Remus always asks an awful lot about Sirius. He finds him unpleasant and cannot talk about anything but Sirius’ annoying tendencies whenever he is set for a visit.

“I don’t think so. But I imagine he will visit even more frequently, considering that his brother has been the only reason for him to go back to France and his parents.”

Remus hummed. “That and his dreadful taste in French pastries.”

“Careful. He would be considered a Lord, and he may not take too kindly to your needling.”

Remus smiled mysteriously at that. “That’s what they get for their revolution.”

The carriage turns into the street towards Lioncrest Manor. James smiles when he sees his home from the window. Regulus smooths out his travel dress and aggressively pushes at a long strand of hair that fell out of his updo.

“Welcome home,” James says.

Regulus looks out of the window, unimpressed.

“Hey, cheer up. If that is what you want, this will be the last dress you’ll ever have to wear.”

One thing, possibly the only thing James has learned about Regulus, is that he doesn’t believe in good things until he has them right in front of him. On their wedding night, he kept looking at James like he expected him to grab him and throw him on the bed to have his way with him. He seemed shocked when James ensured they had separate bedrooms every single night of their honeymoon. He appeared confused every day James kept his promises.

James wonders whether that will ever change. Judging by the look that comes over Regulus at James’ words, it didn't change yet.

“I instructed my servants to call you Regulus, and you have your own room. I did instruct Mr Lupin to hire a personal maid for you instead of a valet. I thought you might find it more comfortable.”

“And Mr Lupin is the butler?”

“Yes. He is also my personal secretary. I will introduce you in a minute, but the most important people among my staff – our staff – are Mr Lupin, Mrs McGonagall, the housekeeper, Poppy, the chef, and you’ve met Mr Rosier, our coachman. Mr Pettigrew is my valet, and the groundskeeper is called Hagrid. Mr Lupin wrote to me that the maid he hired for you is called Pandora.”

Regulus nods slowly, memorising the names and positions.

The carriage stops in front of the Manor. The staff gathered outside, waiting.

James helps Regulus out of the carriage. He introduces the staff as they pass them.

Mr Lupin is young for his position, only a few years older than James. The scars on his face don’t distract from his gentle features and friendly eyes. He is more than a head taller than James, but not imposing.

Mrs McGonagall is an older, stern-looking woman who has seen James grow up and likely has been losing her mind every day ever since hearing James would officially take over the Manor.

Poppy used to work as a nurse before becoming a chef. She is around McGonagall’s age, with no children of her own but a fondness for young orphans like Remus.

The Pettigrews have worked for the Potters for generations. Peter Pettigrew and James have been mates since their childhood. He worked himself up through the ranks of Underfootman and Footman until James’ parents allowed him to appoint him as his valet.

There are some new faces among the maids and footmen, and others are missing. Remus introduces them to Pandora, Regulus’ maid. She is about Regulus’ age with long, gold hair she keeps in a long braid down her back.

Pandora whisks Regulus away to his rooms so he can refresh himself. James sits down in the drawing room with a deep sigh.

“A drink?” Remus offers.

“Yes, please.”

“How was the honeymoon?”

“Regulus insisted on going into every library and bookshop of every city we visited.”

Remus smiles. “Some might consider that a dream vacation.”

“Some are insane.” James points at him. “I just hope he opens up a bit when he is allowed to present himself how he wishes. Who knows, maybe he will even smile.” He laughs into his glass.

“Many men marry unpleasant people and seek out the more pleasant ones in private. The sanctity of marriage is fake. You are in the unique position that your spouse may actually support you crawling into other’s beds.”

“I doubt it’s very unique. Women marrying men they don’t like is far more common than men marrying unpleasant women. Probably because the unpleasant men outnumber the unpleasant women.”

“Is Regulus so unpleasant?”

James ponders this. “He is… intelligent. And all the bad things that come with it, judgemental, condescending, and impatient. It doesn’t make him unpleasant, though. No, I think the most irritating thing about him is his silence. He never utters a word too much or speaks about his feelings or wishes. The entire honeymoon was just stretches of endless silence stacked on top of each other. He has no interest in communicating with me whatsoever.”

“Sounds like a marriage of convenience. Which it is.”

“Of course, of course. Still, I would like to be his friend. He will live with me until Sirius develops a better plan.”

“Well, you want to be everybody’s friend. I’d say, after managing to get me on your side, your spouse shouldn’t be a problem.”

James smiles and shrugs.

“May I ask a question?”

James gestures for him to continue.

“What is the plan exactly should you host a social gathering? Are you not in the mood for parties anymore?”

“I am. We will simply say my wife is out of the country or ill, and Regulus is a cousin or something.”

“And what if your parents come to visit?”

James almost chokes on his drink. Right. He didn’t consider that. Looking at Remus’ expression, he is well aware that James didn’t.

“Well… we could still say my wife is off to visit someone and then just… hide Regulus.”

“I see. Foolproof plan, Sir. My compliments.”

“Hey, save the sarcasm. I could fire you.”

“You would miss me every remaining day of your miserable life.”

True.

“None of it has been my plan, for your information. It was all Sirius. So if you want to complain, call on him.”

“I shall. You should invite him for a visit so I can pass on my praise for Monsieur Black’s plans.”

“I might do that just to spite you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

***

James doesn’t see Regulus until dinner.

He isn’t sure what he expects. Maybe he doesn’t expect anything at all.

He needs a minute to realise who he is when Regulus enters the room.

His face, in theory, remained the same. The missing paint does little altercation. Pandora cut his hair into a fashionable, timely gentleman’s cut, cutting off all his pretty curls, which James finds excessive. Regulus’ hair is curlier than Sirius’s, and James always liked bouncy curls on people. It is a true loss. The new hair frames his face differently. However, The most drastic change is in how Regulus carries himself.

Maybe it is the simplicity of the suit as opposed to the heavy skirts, but he moves with a new kind of freedom. His shoulders are straight, and he holds his head up high. He doesn’t smile, but he neither frowns nor scowls. It isn’t the mask of impregnable neutrality either. He looks a bit unsure when he looks up to meet James’ gaze. James has never seen him shy before.

Regulus takes his place at the table.

“You look very handsome, Regulus.”

It isn’t the first compliment James has ever paid Regulus, by far, but it is the first time that it seems to trigger a genuine reaction from him.

A smile tugs on the corner of his mouth. James cannot stop staring at it. Regulus looks away from him, and James thinks if Regulus were capable of blushing, he’d do it right now. (Personally, James had decided that Regulus was incapable of blushing or accepting compliments when they first met years ago)

“Thank you,” Regulus says quietly. He acts like it was the first time someone ever complimented him.

The food is served soon after, and James asks how Regulus likes his room.

“It’s fine. I am free to decorate it, am I?”

“Yes, of course. I can show you to the attic where we keep pictures and decor. You can choose freely. Or, if you like, we call on Sirius to send something from your old rooms in Aquitaine.”

“Don’t we have money to buy new things?”

“We do. If you want to go to a gallery in town or elsewhere in England, we shall do so. You can have whatever you want.”

And judging by his smile, this might be the first time Regulus believes him right away when he makes a promise.

A smile and a sliver of trust all on the first day of being home? James smiles triumphantly to himself.

***

by me (I hate James' glasses and Reggie's dress, but whatever)

Chapter Text

“I never was any other man’s, nor ever shall I be” Teleny 110

The next day, James decides to give Regulus a tour around the house.

He looks lovely in his burgundy waistcoat.

“I had Mr Lupin call on the tailor for tomorrow. He will take your measurements, and you can choose all the colours and materials you like for new clothes.” James announces while leading him through a sitting room.

Regulus stops.

James turns around to him, confused.

“Are you sure the tailor is to be trusted?”

James smiles. “You should know as well as I that every untrustworthy person can become trustworthy with enough money.”

Regulus crosses his arms in front of his chest. “And you should know as well as I that every person of low character will think they’re entitled to money for as long as they know a secret. Especially if you pay them once.”

James shrugs. “Then I’ll pay. I’ll keep you safe, Regulus.”

“How romantic,” He says with an eyeroll and keeps walking, “And stupid. I’ll tell the tailor if he tells anyone, I’ll kidnap every person he loves, lock them into a glass box and fixate him in front of them to make him watch how I starve them to death.”

James blinks at him. Regulus keeps walking with a skip in his step.

James reminds himself to tell Remus that Regulus is not allowed to make any purchases of large boxes.

“That’s excessive, don’t you think?”

Regulus turns to him with a shrug. “I could just stab him. But the psychological terror I threaten will have a better result long-term.”

He must also be kept away from knives.

“Are you doing that sort of thing often?” James leads him out of the sitting room.

“I have strict parents, a preference for men’s clothes, and a homosexual brother. What do you think?”

“You protected your brother. That’s amicable.”

Regulus shrugs. “He’s soft. He would be like you, try to shut people up with money. It never works. You shut them up with fear or death. Sirius made this mistake once with the gardener. He resolved to steal from our father to pay him off. The gardener wouldn’t stop until I sneaked into his bedroom one night and cut off his toe with garden sheers.”

“You did what?” James exclaims.

Regulus shrugs. “Someone had to put an end to the whole ordeal. Who is this?” He points at a large portrait when they enter the drawing room.

Mentally, James is still at garden sheers and toes. Regulus steps up to the portrait. “When I came into this room yesterday and saw it, I wondered who it was. She must have been important for such an excessively large portrait. It’s not your mother.”

The portrait is a lovely painting of a beautiful young woman clad in an ornate red dress sitting on a gilded chair and looking at the beholder with a gentle smile.

“My Aunt,” James says, “My father’s sister. She died when she was sixteen.”

“She’s beautiful. How did she die?”

James sighs. “She had a love affair with a servant. My grandfather wanted to marry her off to some rich and aloof aristocrat. When the fiancé found out about the affair, he ensured everyone knew. My grandfather made her responsible for the loss of status and respect we received in the aftermath and blamed her for the fall of his legacy and family. She killed herself soon after. I guess… that touched upon my grandfather’s conscience, and he died, too. That’s how my father became Earl. Then he hung this portrait here so she could be with family.”

Regulus hums. “How come your father didn’t think she brought shame to the family name?”

“He loved his sister. He thought she could do no wrong. …Sirius and you remind me of them sometimes.”

Regulus hums again and cocks his head to the side, gazing upon the Lady Potter.

“The affair was with a woman,” James feels compelled to say. “Maybe that is why my father didn’t see a problem with it. He always told me this story of how my aunt always talked about seeking the love of another woman instead of a man. I wasn’t raised to believe it was an abnormal thing. I didn’t know other people did for a long time. I grew up quite sheltered.”

“So did Sirius and me. Just that in our sheltered upbringing, everything was denounced as immoral.”

James smiles. “Well, you’re away from that family now. You’re part of my family. I don’t think it was my father’s intention, but I tried my hardest to turn this into a sort of shelter for homosexuals.”

Regulus looks at him curiously.

“You saw the scars on Lupin’s face? He got them when he was incarcerated at Reading for a year for Gross Indecency. I read of his fate in a newspaper and calculated when he would get out. I knew he had worked in manors like ours before, so I persuaded the former Head of Household to offer him work here. I did not tell him why or for what Remus was in prison and instructed him not to say anything either. Poppy ceased being a nurse after being caught at work kissing a woman colleague. First, she was a kitchen maid and saved all her money to train at Nightingale’s School. But thirty years of experience don’t mean much in London after certain scandals. She was an old friend of Miss McGonagall, so Poppy found her way here to work in the kitchen again. She should be a doctor, honestly. Like the one in London. What was her name… Anderson, I think. Elizabeth Anderson. Ever heard of her?”

“No. How come you know so much about women doctors?”

James smiles and shrugs. “I care about all sorts of things. Homosexuality. Sexology. Women’s Rights. And who can hold their breath longer: Me or your brother? All very existential topics.”

It almost makes Regulus crack a smile. James can see how he tries to hold it in.

“Believe it or not, I even think women should be allowed to vote.”

“Do you have a tragic family story for that, too, or is it simply personal conviction?”

James opens his mouth to explain and stops himself. He wonders whether telling him about Miss Lily would be in bad taste. Regulus is his spouse, after all.

James clears his throat. “I know a suffragist. I hold her in very high regard, and I tend to have my opinions easily changed by likeable people.”

Regulus smiles smugly. “And with likeable, you mean pretty.”

James rolls his eyes at him and takes him by the arm to make their way through the drawing room.

“You are a weak man, Lord Potter,” Regulus says, “Changing your opinions for the pretty ones, taking in the outcasts for the dead, marrying the weird ones for your friends.”

“You make it sound like a bad quality.”

“It may be your very best quality.”

And as much as Regulus may have mocked him so far, he says this with absolute sincerity. James decides Regulus Black is rather likeable.

After a few more over-decorated, under-used rooms, James finally leads Regulus to the library.

“Promise me something,” James says before opening the doors. “Don’t sneer. Don’t scowl. And don’t roll your pretty eyes at me.”

“You think my eyes are pretty?” He asks smugly.

“And don’t use that tone.”

“What tone?”

“That.”

Regulus smirks. “What are you hiding behind that door? Your secret collection of porcelain dolls?”

“No. Something I hope you’ll like.” He opens the doors behind him with a flourish and gestures for Regulus to enter.

Regulus hesitates before stepping in, giving James a curious look. His face lights up as soon as he sees the books. The library spans two rooms with ceiling-high shelves filled with books sorted by topic, then author. The room is flooded with natural light, and the second room, by one of the windows, has a little sitting area with high-backed sofas and chairs.

“We’ve always been a family of collectors. Art, books,”

“Homosexuals.”

James playfully jabs his finger into his shoulder. “What did I say about that tone?”

Regulus rolls his pretty eyes at him. James pokes him again.

“My mother always insisted on getting the most artful version of every book she liked. My grandfather collected the first editions. My aunt collected books on biology and medicine, while my father filled this room with books about natural science and philosophy. I never had a taste for it, to be honest.”

“I’m starting to like your family.”

“We’re married. It’s your family, too, now. So, this library is yours, too.”

Regulus looks up at him. “Oh, that is a dangerous thing to say, James. I might take you at your word on that.”

James laughs. “Why do you make that sound like a threat?”

“Because when your wife dies and her cousin leaves this house, he might start taking these books with him.”

“Yeah? How would you carry them?”

“I’d sneak them out of this house volume by volume without you noticing over months. Then I’d leave, and suddenly you’d stand in an empty library.”

“Cruel. But fair. Do you want to have a look around?”

“Good luck getting me out of this place again.” He says with a smile and then takes off to explore.

James looks after him with a grin. The frequency of Regulus’ smiles has increased by over a 100% since getting here compared to every time James has seen him before. He has a nice smile. It’s a shame so few people ever got to see it.

So far, James can be sure that living with Regulus will be quite pleasant as long as he lets him present himself how he wants and gives him books. It should be easy enough.

James sits down in the seating area by the tall window. It offers a great view of the gardens. One of the gardeners is trimming the rose bushes. He can’t wait to show Regulus the gardens.

“I found some light reading material for now,” Regulus announces when he finds him again. He has a large pile of books in his arms. James probably won’t be able to show him the gardens today.

“Do you want me to call for tea?”

Regulus hums. “Tea would be lovely.”

***

Regulus chose a few art pieces from the estate’s collection for his rooms. Over the last weeks, deliveries from the tailor arrived, including a series of corsets, each time altered a bit more. The tailor grew increasingly nervous around Regulus, afraid he would be sent home with more orders for new alterations and fewer toes. James has no idea what that is all about –and he thinks it’s not his place to ask Regulus about his undergarments – but he notices that contrary to most of the former corsets, the new ones compress his chest and make it flatter. James needs to continuously remind himself not to stare at his chest. Most of the time, it’s Regulus who reminds him.

“Just… where do they go?” he asked once.

Regulus didn’t even look up. “Vacation in Italy.”

James didn’t ask again.

Finally, James offers to take Regulus to the nearest town. The Lioncrest Manor is situated on a hill, softly watching over the small town. Gryffindor County is full of those gentle slopes and soft hills. Towns and villages are built into valleys; the wealthier a family is, the higher they live. Most estates on the hills belong to the Potters, of course.

The town is called Lyopot, to which Regulus rolls his eyes and uses that voice whenever someone mentions it.

“It’s because it’s surrounded by hills. Like it sits at the bottom of a pot,” James tries to explain. Regulus just stares at him.

Sirius laughed his butt off the first time he told him. How can the brothers be so different?

“So, what will you show me in your pot?” Regulus asks as the carriage descends the hill.

James smiles. “The market is very pretty in the fall. We have a little gallery you can purchase some paintings from if you like. It’s wonderful, and the people love me. We can just take a stroll around.”

Regulus bites his lip.

“What?”

“My brother has always been a man who thinks the world is easy. He doesn’t plan for complications or eventualities. It strikes me you are the same.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You are a Viscount. Only a few years shy of becoming an Earl, judging by your father’s health.”

“My father is in good health.”

“I saw him at the wedding. I’d be surprised if he lived to see the turn of the century, James. Be that as it may, you have a title and, thus, societal responsibilities. You have to host social gatherings. It is expected. Further, your parents will want to visit and see you.”

“So?”

“So, your wife will have to be there, too. It would be embarrassing if she were absent from every gathering, neglecting her duties as Viscountess and securing your line. The gossip would be unbearable. Scandal would come over your name and earldom.”

Regulus is right. He didn’t think about those things or plan for them. He didn’t plan anything, actually. He trusted Sirius.

“It will only be for a short while, won’t it? Until Sirius fakes your death.”

“That can’t happen for at least a year as not to raise suspicions about your role in my death or whether my death is real.”

James bites his tongue. He doesn’t mind being married to Regulus or having him around for a few years. But he doesn’t want unnecessary scandal staining his father’s name and legacy.

“Do you have a plan?”

“I expected I would have to play the part of your wife a few times during our marriage for important events or receiving visits from your parents.”

“Would you be okay with that?”

Regulus shrugs. “I’ve prepared myself for it. I’m aware that the life you are giving me right now is far more than any person in my position could have hoped for. I won’t embarrass you in return. But that is where the problem arises: If too many people here see me as Regulus, one of them is bound to recognise me as the Viscountess at some point.”

James just smiles and reaches out to take Regulus’ hands. “Should that happen, dear, we’ll still have money and garden sheers at our disposal.”

Regulus stares at their clasped hands and then huffs a laugh.

“I might have to consider the possibility that you are entirely too good a man to be wasted on me.”

“Many women would disagree, I imagine.”

Regulus finally pulls his hands away. He doesn’t say anything in response.

James has always loved the town and its people. It’s a peaceful little thing compared to the big cities favoured by Sirius, like London or Paris. The life is simple. The scandals are minimal. Any man thirsty for excitement finds it boring, and so does James at times, especially as an eighteen-year-old, but it has that all-encompassing feeling of warmth and safety an equal amount of men chase since the day their mother picked them up last.

James leads Regulus through the market and shows him the little streets and the pond in the park where he used to play when his nanny took him here.

Regulus insists on visiting the bookshop. James reminds him that there isn’t a book there that they don't already have at home, but that doesn’t stop Regulus from walking through the shop and looking at everything they have. James spends the time talking to the shopkeep. He is an old fellow, always happy to tell James about new folks coming to town or about the new volumes and books published.

James looks towards Regulus, who is browsing poetry at the moment. He turns back to the old shopkeep. “Do you have anything new concerning mysteries? Murder and riddles?”

The man sucks on his bottom lip while thinking. Then he claps his hands. “Oh, yes, my Lord. Brand new. It is a collection of stories by Arthur Conan Doyle. He writes those fantastic detective stories in the magazines. They published them in a collection, and I acquired a few copies. They don’t sell well. The topics are too sensible for the townsfolk.”

“I’d like to purchase one for my brother-in-law. He likes those a lot. Oh, and I will purchase your most scandalous new work.”

James hands over the books to Regulus when they leave the shop.

“What is this?”

“Presents.” James shrugs. “I think you’ll like them.”

“The Yellow Wallpaper,” Regulus reads the title of the scandalous book. He smiles. “I’ve heard of this. I wanted to read it, but my parents didn’t allow me to do so.”

James smiles, satisfied with himself, and leads him to the gallery.

“My mother’s mother is an art enthusiast and was a lifelong patron of this gallery,” James says when they enter. “I don’t know if it will meet your tastes, though.”

“Even if not, I enjoy galleries and art.”

As it turns out, some pictures from the gallery do meet Regulus’ tastes.

“Not that I would want to redecorate your ancestral home, dear Viscount,” Regulus says, standing in front of an exquisitely painted landscape, “but this fits the sitting room far better than the picture with the homme en fruits.”

James frowns. “The fruit man? Do you mean The Summer by Arcimboldo? My great-grandmother bought it.”

“I don’t like it.”

“It’s one of four we have around the house. Summer, Autumn, Winter, and Spring.”

“Why around the house? Why aren’t they all in one place?”

James shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t place them.”

“Shouldn’t your wife be allowed to request changes to the décor?”

“Shouldn’t my wife wear pretty dresses and carry my children?”

Regulus gives him a look. “That was low.”

James smiles and winks at him. “Fine, make as many changes to the décor as you want. But you’ll explain that to my parents should they visit.”

“Agreed. I want this one for the sitting room.”

“You shall have it.”

James probably should have inquired about the artist before agreeing. When he finds the gallery owner, James suddenly remembers why he put off taking Regulus here until now.

The owner is talking to his daughter, who, unfortunately, is the painter of the landscape Regulus fell in love with.

The daughter is a lovely girl with vibrant green eyes and red hair curling around her face. She wears a pretty, pastel yellow dress. She looks beautiful.

She notices James first. She looks at him surprised, and then a pleasant smile comes to her face, enhancing her soft features.

The owner turns to him. “Ah, Lord Potter, it is an honour. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yes, my apologies. I was… busy.”

“Of course, of course. The Viscount doesn’t have time for pointless visits. But it nice that the noble folk doesn’t unlearn appreciation for art.”

James tries to smile and nod, but his eyes keep circling back to the girl.

“Uhm, there is a picture I’m interested in purchasing. The Landscape over there.”

“Oh, an exquisite choice, my Lord. Truly. My dear Lily painted that one. She is getting better every day, isn’t she?”

“She is.”

“I shall write something up, and we will have it delivered to Lioncrest in a few days' time if you wish. May I interest you in a nice frame for it, too?”

Lily steps forward. “Papa, let me talk to the Viscount about frames. It is my picture, after all.”

“Sure, dear. Of course. I will prepare the documents.”

Before James can even protest, Mr Evans is gone, and Lily walks over to her painting, right towards Regulus. James quickly chases after her.

James clears his throat when they reach him to stop Regulus from uttering a word. “May I introduce you to Lord Regulus Black? He is the brother of Sirius Black. Do you remember him? My friend from France?”

“Of course I do.”

“Yes, Regulus is staying with me for a while. And he doesn’t speak English. Not one word of it, actually. Unfortunately.” He hears himself giggle nervously.

Regulus frowns at him.

James switches to French. “I thought it would be more plausible that you are my wife’s twin brother than her cousin. Because of the resemblance.”

Regulus frowns even deeper. “That is not how twins work. What are you doing?”

“This is Miss Lily Evans. She painted the picture.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Why are you sweating like a pig?”

“I don’t Swiss.”

“You are. And you’re making more grammar mistakes when you’re nervous.”

“It’s warm in here. Now, keep it down, or I will hang the Arcimboldo in your rooms.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You’re too scared of me.”

That is true. But James has the suspicion that Regulus is scared of the Arcimboldo picture. He ignores him and looks back at Lily.

“Sorry about that.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” he laughs nervously again, which earns him another look from Regulus. “I mean, you’ve met Sirius. His brother is even more confrontational. Can you believe it?”

“Yes.”

James clears his throat. “So, this is a beautiful picture. What frames should we purchase with it?”

“Well, I’m no frame maker, of course, but I know you have one in your library that I think would go fantastically with this picture. The one around the Venus print you own.”

Regulus looks almost offended at her comment. “You won’t touch that picture, will you? I love it. It has to stay the way it is in the library.”

“Tsk, you don’t understand English,“ James reminds him. “Go look at other pictures. Shoo.”

“Shoo? Oh, you will live to regret this.” He says, turns and leaves.

Shit. James may wake up to five toes and an empty library tomorrow.

“James,” Lily says softly while he is still looking after Regulus. “Why didn’t you answer my letters?”

James swallows heavily and looks at her again. “I’m terribly sorry, Lily. I… I had a lot to do, you know… Viscount things.”

“Oh,” she looks at her hands. “It would have been nice to hear from you at least once. I’ve been waiting.”

“I’m so sorry, truly. I, uhm… I will explain, I promise. I’m just really busy at the moment.”

She looks at him with a curious look on her face. She nods slowly and then goes to seek out her father to finish up the purchase.

***

Regulus doesn’t speak to him the rest of the day and the next. He only glares at him over the dinner table and says “Shoo” when James tries to speak to him.

He is as dramatic as his brother.

Lily delivers the picture with her father. Regulus is in the sitting room, reading The Yellow Wallpaper, which appears to be about a wife who goes insane. James thinks it would be much more realistic for a husband to go insane if the wife was anything like Regulus.

Remus leads the Evans’s into the sitting room and calls James to them. Lily isn’t smiling today. She keeps glaring at him whenever she looks at him.

Finally, Mr Evans steps out with Remus, and Lily, disregarding etiquette and Regulus’s presence, walks up to James and slaps him across the face.

“Lily-“

“You’re married,” she hisses. “You got married.”

“I-“

“You’ve been courting me endlessly for years, and then you just go off and marry someone else? How could you do this to me?”

James throws a glance at Regulus, who stands by the new picture and looks at them surprised.

“Lily, please, it’s complicated.”

“Complicated? No other man in this town will even look at me because they don’t want to offend the Viscount. Don’t talk to me about complicated! You wanted to marry me. So, who is she? And where is she?”

“She’s… Sirius’s sister.”

“What?”

“Sirius’s sister and Regulus’ twin. It’s a long and complicated story, and I don’t know whether I can even tell you what is going on.”

“You don’t think that you owe me at least that? Or maybe that you should have told me you planned to marry? I didn’t even hear it from you! You stopped answering my letters, went to France, got married, and I had to hear it through the town’s gossip!”

“I’m sorry.”

Lily shakes her head. Tears are clouding her green eyes.

“And I thought you were a good man. How foolish.”

Something about her words starts to coax anger out of James. He feels terrible for her, truly, but she isn’t allowed to talk to him like this. She doesn’t know what is happening. She could have been his wife if she wished.

“You’re being unfair.”

“No, you are being unfair. You, with your money and your fancy title, think you can court me and ask to marry me just to take someone else as your bride?”

“You rejected me,” James exclaims. Lily flinches. “I proposed to you three times. And three times, you rejected me. As much as my parents liked you, they gave me grief for wanting to marry a woman that is not from nobility. I said, ‘I don’t care. I love her.’ And for years, I’ve been waiting patiently, but you said you don’t love me and don’t want to marry me.”

She steps back from him. She raises her gloved hands to her face to dab at the tears. “That was a year ago, James. You kept courting me.”

“And you told me to stop. I did. Now, you fault me for that? You won’t even let me explain or defend myself? I loved you. I wanted to marry you. You didn’t. I married another for many reasons. And now you act like I changed my mind. That’s not what happened, Lily.”

“I-“

“You didn’t want me.”

She looks at him out of red-rimmed, teary eyes, turns around and dashes out of the room.

James sits down on the couch with a heavy sigh. He twists his wedding ring and closes his eyes.

Footsteps cross the room, and someone sits down next to him. They almost touch.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus whispers. “I didn’t realise… I didn’t consider whether you might have already had a bride.”

“I didn’t. It’s true. She rejected me. I didn’t ever think I’d stop trying, though. She… I was a child when I first met her at the gallery and fell in love. A dumb, childish kind of love. I carried it into adulthood and courted her ever since I knew what it meant. She kept rejecting me. Then I tried just being her friend. Being her friend was better than not knowing her at all. And I fell deeper and deeper in love.”

“Looks like she felt the same in the end.”

James hums. “Or no other option presented himself.”

“You’re the best option,” Regulus says without hesitation.

“Because I’m a Viscount?”

“Because you’re a kind man. There are many Viscounts. There aren’t many kind men. Not even I am a kind man.”

Regulus slowly leans his head against James’ shoulder. It is an odd, rare display of affection. James doesn’t know what to do with it.

“I don’t want you to be unhappy for helping me. You can love whomever you wish, court whomever you wish, lie with whomever you wish; I won’t interfere, I promise. I’ll even… should a woman carry your child, I’ll happily agree to let them live with us and to society pretend it is my child so your line is secured. …Tell Lily about me. Write her a letter explaining why you married me and who I am. Tell her we’ll only be married for a short while, and then she can marry you. I don’t want to stand in the way of your happiness.”

James exhales slowly and leans back against Regulus, resting his head on top of his. “I don’t think I will. But, thank you.”

“Did you have anyone back in France?” James asks after a while.

“No.”

“I was wondering… you are a man but born as a woman. Do you seek love from other men or women, now?”

Regulus seems to ponder this question for a while. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to answer.

“Men,” he says finally. “Not that there is much hope for love for me. Any homosexual man wouldn’t want my body. Any regular man wouldn’t want me. I think I gave up on romance some time ago. I’d rather be alone and myself than anyone’s beloved wife.”

“That’s sad. …You deserve love if you want it.”

“I want it,” he whispers, “but not more than anything.”

***

Chapter Text

“In the gloom, you are my light; in the cold, you are my fire; the frozen wastes of the Pole would be a Garden of Eden for me if you were there” Teleny 113

Life at the manor is calm. They are approaching winter, so Regulus barely leaves the house to wander the gardens. James often pays him company, reading in the library, talking about books, music, art, and Sirius, or listening to him play the piano and the violin. When James is busy with his “Viscount things”, as he refers to it, Regulus either spends the time alone or seeks out the servants to keep him company.

Pandora, his maid, is like a dear friend to him. She is a bright young woman, interested in science, herbs, and poisons – something that would have been a concern if she was any other person. Regulus likes hearing her talk.

She is not from this town but a few miles off to the north. She is curious about everything and, at times, bold but still knows when to shut up. She shares gossip about the rest of the servants with Regulus whenever possible.

She once admired one of the jewellery pieces Regulus got from his mother after the wedding, and Regulus gifted it to her at once. He wouldn’t wear it anyway, and it looked much prettier on the girl.

It is a cool December morning. Pandora is brushing his hair. “Your hair is long enough for the curls to come out properly again,” she says with delight. “Do you want me to cut it shorter?”

Regulus looks at himself in the mirror, wearing his special corset and a wide shirt. The curls frame his face. He always liked them. He just felt uncomfortable with the waist-long hair. His mother would always touch it and call him a “pretty girl” before she went on her tirades about how fat he was.

“I don’t know. What do you think? Do the curls suit me?”

“Very. And a little birdie told me your husband likes curly hair.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. Pandora always makes insinuations about his relationship with James.

“And who was that birdie?”

“Mr Lupin, of course. He knows such things. The girl the Viscount was in love with had curly hair.”

“Yes, she did. …But I don’t need to appeal to Lord Potter visually because we are not really a romantic couple. As I’ve told you many times.”

“Of course, My Lord,” she says, smiling at him through the mirror. “So, do you want me to cut it?”

“No,” he says quickly, picking at one of the curls. But not because of James’ preferences, he says to himself.

“Are you excited because your brother is joining us?” Pandora asks while helping him into the rest of his clothes.

“As excited as one can be at the thought of a coming migraine.” Regulus loves his brother, truly. But he knows exactly how this months-long visit is going to go by:

James and Sirius will spend every waking minute together, going to town or the theatre, maybe taking trips to another city, possibly London. They will joke, play, and slap each other’s backs while Regulus is either reluctantly dragged along or entirely ignored.

Regulus enjoys every second he gets to spend with James. He is kind and funny and makes him forget that the world out there sees him differently. Sirius will arrive and take him away from him. Or worse: He will have a new plan to end this arrangement. Regulus will most likely have to leave this place and never see James again. He dreads the day that will happen.

Regulus joins James downstairs for breakfast. He smiles at him when he enters. He is polishing his gold-rimmed glasses. Without them, one can see the drops of honey-gold in his brown eyes even from a few feet away.

His skin is paler in the winter months. He keeps a slight tan in the summer, and Regulus fantasises about affectionately calling him a farmhand next July.

“Good Morning, Reg.” The nickname is rather new. Sometimes, when Regulus makes him laugh, he calls him Reggie, and Regulus doesn’t know how to handle that.

“Good Morning.”

“Are you excited to see Sirius?” James asks. His own excitement is radiating off him.

“Not as much as you.”

James grins at him. “We’ll have so much fun together. We can go hunting in the woods and go to the theatre in the evening. In January, we shall all go to London together. We can watch Mr Wilde’s new play.”

Regulus looks at him, confused. “And when you say ‘we’…”

“You, Sirius, and I.”

Regulus blinks at him. James chuckles, confused.

“What? I thought you liked Wilde’s works.”

“I do.”

“Well, then, what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem. Surprisingly.”

James looks at him curiously and shrugs.

A footman comes in to deliver the paper and the mail.

“Oh, my parents sent a letter,” he says excitedly. “I wonder why.”

Probably about Christmas. Regulus thinks while James is reading the letter.

“They say they are looking forward to coming here for Christmas.”

“Yes, I thought they would.”

“I expected them to host Christmas like every year.”

“But where did they host, James?”

James sighs. “Good point. The new manor is significantly smaller than this one. Still, I didn’t expect this. I never hosted a celebration before. I mean, not alone, at any rate. And Christmas is a big one, isn’t it? The house was always so full.”

Regulus can tell that he is getting worked up about it. He starts babbling like always.

“James, stay calm. You’re not hosting.”

“What?”

“You’re not hosting. I am.”

In a matter of seconds, James goes from being close to a heart attack to total confusion and relief.

“The Lady of the House hosts these kinds of things, meaning your wife.”

“So, you just… you’re doing that?”

“Yes, obviously. I may not fulfil all of my marital duties, but of course, I’m taking care of this. Mr Lupin and Ms McGonagall have been helping me. I’ve been in correspondence with your parents about it for weeks. Your mother asked me to host it here.”

“And you didn’t mention that to me?”

“I didn’t think I needed to. You do ‘Viscount things’; I do ‘Viscountess things’. I assumed Mr Lupin would tell you if the matter demanded it.”

James takes a slow, deep breath. “You… are an amazing spouse. Who did you invite?”

“I inquired about the usual guest lists from your mother’s servants and asked her who needs inviting and who doesn’t. Your parents, your grandmother, some cousins from your mother’s side and a widowed aunt, then some friends of the family. She also said that you traditionally invite other nobility and dignitaries but mentioned it would be better not to invite them until I’ve been formally introduced to them at a separate celebration.” Regulus wonders whether the disgust the thought brings him translates to his voice. “Anyway, Sirius stays for Christmas, of course. And my parents wrote and insisted on being invited though I wanted to avoid them.”

“You don’t have to invite them.”

Regulus sighs. “Too late. Don’t worry about it.”

“Reg-“

“Don’t worry about it,” he repeats and smiles. “I’ll show your parents that you made the right choice in marrying me, try to evade my mother, and make sure that the talk of the town will be positive.”

“While wearing a dress?”

Regulus clenches his jaw. “Yes. It’s only for a few days. Maybe I’ll play to my frail health and stay in my rooms for most of it.”

“Feel free to do that. Really. Sirius and I will ensure you can get out whenever necessary.”

James is entirely too good for him. He is truly wasted on him. He should be with a woman like Lily.

James hasn’t mentioned her ever since the day she brought the painting. Regulus has hated the painting since then. Mainly because he quickly realised why he liked it initially: It perfectly captures the view of the town from one of the upper store windows of the manor. James doesn’t seem like the kind of man to ruin a woman by taking her to bed before marriage, and Lily didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would let him, but the thought of her being in this house, in the more intimate places of it because James wanted her there… the thought of her being there often enough to paint the picture… it puts a curious pressure on his stomach.

Regulus has since taken the picture down and replaced it with the old Arcimboldo works. He still doesn’t like them. But now, at least the whole set is together in one room. James likes the pictures because they are strange. He likes the unconventional, the queer, and scandalous. He thinks it’s all so fascinating. Maybe that is why he is friends with Sirius. Or perhaps he is like that because he is friends with Sirius.

***

Sirius arrives loudly.

Regulus can tell that Rosier, their coachman, is highly annoyed by him. Regulus likes Rosier. He is good with the horses, which is one of the animals Regulus is generally rather fond of.

Sirius needs to look twice before recognising Regulus when he is led to the drawing room.

“Wow, I always knew the English countryside air did strange things to upstanding Frenchmen.”

“Are you calling me upstanding?”

“I wouldn’t dare, little brother,” Sirius grins and hugs him. “You look happy.”

“I am.”

Sirius is beaming at him. “Good. You deserve the world, and James better be giving it to you.”

“The world, the moon, and the stars, and inkwells shaped like animals.”

“What?”

“The owl is my favourite.”

Sirius laughs and shakes his head. “Where is James?”

“Should be here any-“

The doors are pushed open. “Sirius!” James exclaims. He and Sirius fall into each other’s arms like long-lost lovers. Regulus frowns at them and looks past them at Mr Lupin. He watches them fondly.

“I am so happy to see you again, my friend,” Sirius says and pulls him to the sofas where Regulus sits.

Lupin has the tea brought in for them. James is laughing brightly, swapping stories with Sirius. When he laughs, it illuminates his entire face. He looks too handsome in his red waistcoat and slightly tousled hair.

Regulus quickly calls on his senses. He mustn’t lose himself in his silly admiration.

He has admired many men over the years. He admired broad shoulders and large hands, strong jaws and narrow hips. He didn’t admire them romantically. He didn’t want to lie with those men. He wanted to have those features. He admired them as he admired them in his brother. He has looked at Sirius many times, wondering whether he would have looked just like him had he been born a boy. Sirius is a very handsome man (though Regulus would never admit this to his face) with perfect proportions and a face that seems irresistible to all men and women of France. Regulus wanted to be like that. He needed to be like that.

It feels different when he looks at James.

James is exceptionally handsome, too. Tall, strong, with soft features, warm eyes and a sweet smile. Regulus doesn’t want to look anything like him. His admiration for his beauty lies somewhere wholly else. It lies in the same place as his admiration for James’s kindness, for his selflessness, and his protectiveness.

But Regulus won’t lose himself in it. He will wait until Sirius presents a new plan and then set James free for Lily.

***

In the afternoon, Regulus excuses himself to his rooms when James and Sirius decide to play weird games from their youth.

He goes to one of the windows upstairs and looks down at the town at the foot of the hill. Lyopot looks like a scene in a snow globe from here. It is the perfect, good place to find perfect, good women like Lily. Women who are women and love men, and men who are men and love women. Like Lily. Like James. This estate is truly an anomaly.

Regulus crooks his head slightly and before him sees precisely the scene of Lily’s painting. The poor girl is hurt because of him. James put his life on hold, possibly losing her, for him.

Regulus never felt guilty for anything before. His life has been too miserable to feel guilty for cut-off toes or spilt secrets.

Regulus steps away from the window and returns to his rooms and his desk. He has correspondence to write for the Christmas party.

James gifted him an inkpot two weeks ago – a silly, obscure little thing shaped like an owl. Regulus is absolutely in love with it.

No matter how hard he tries, he cannot concentrate on the correspondence he is supposed to work on. His mind circles back to James. And then to Lily. And then to James again.

He dips his pen into the ink and holds it over the paper. Without really planning to, he finds himself writing to her.

And then he takes another paper and writes there. The words flow from his soul to paper without consulting his brain first.

Beneath the sky's warm and golden glow,
A radiant presence, a friend I know.
Eyes like earth, deep with secrets to share,
In those brown orbs, I find solace rare.

Hair as dark as night, a contrast bold,
A smile that warms the heart and takes its hold.
As day to night, your presence takes its place,
Guiding me with each step and embrace.

Oh, like the sun that graces the dawn,
You're a source of joy from dusk to morn.
In your light, I find strength anew,
In your embrace, my heart finds its true.

Regulus stares at the words and twists his face in disgust. He was never destined to be a poet. He tears the page up, takes what he has written before and stuffs it into an envelope.

He needs to get up from his chair. The weird pressure on his stomach he usually gets when he looks at Lily’s picture is back. The guilt, too.

He paces the floor until he halts in front of his floor-length mirror. He used to avoid looking at himself; now, he sometimes can’t stop.

The cut of the shirt and the deep green waistcoat make his shoulders look broader. The sleeves have a comfortable width, not clinging to his arms, giving the illusion of increased mass. The corset he designed with the tailor compresses his chest uncomfortably. Sometimes he can’t wait to take it off in the evening and spends the days in pain. Yet he takes the pain over the hyperawareness of his body and the repulsion he usually feels. Looking at his side profile, his chest barely even suggests its natural shape. All of his clothes are primarily designed to hide his body and make a masculine body underneath plausible. He is rather happy with the result. If he didn’t know about himself, he could be easily convinced he was born a man. Small and delicate, but a man. He should ask James whether he can arrange for tutoring in sword-fighting and sports for him.

Regulus steps towards the mirror to inspect his face. Pandora is a witch when it comes to his appearance. His hair falls in a way that makes his features appear sharper. Sometimes, he sits endlessly in front of his mirrors, mimicking how his brother and James sit and hold themselves, where they keep their hands, touch others, gesture, and how their faces move.

He has come to be very proud of the result. He likes looking at himself in the mirror. He enjoys walking around this house in his trousers and shirts and not having it resemble being at home in the least.

He would choose this life a hundred times over romance. He would choose it over seeing James. James is a short time, a ray of sunlight in the winter days, but this is his life. The feelings for him may pass, but the feelings about himself won’t.

James deserves his happiness and his love. He deserves Lily. He can’t go punished for giving Regulus more than he could have ever hoped for.

Regulus puts the new letter on top of a stack of other correspondence that needs mailing.

***

At dinner, Sirius makes Regulus talk about how he finds the house and the town, his thoughts on the countryside, the manor, and the library.

“I knew you’d love it,” Sirius laughs and empties his wine glass. Lupin is by his side at once and refills it. Sirius’ hand brushes against his arm by accident.

“It’s the best part of the entire estate.”

James shakes his head with a smile. “That is because you never came hunting with me in the woods.”

“Oh, we have to go hunting together!” Sirius exclaims.

“I’m still mastering riding the horse in a normal settle, Sirius. If I tried to hunt as of now, I’d fall off and break all my bones.”

Sirius smirks. “Riding is my favourite thing to do. And I look damn good sitting on top of a muscled stud.” He raises his glass and pauses for a second, looking towards Lupin before drinking.

The butler rolls his eyes discreetly.

“Sure, you do, Sirius,” James laughs, oblivious to what Sirius actually said, “You should teach Regulus some tricks to make it more enjoyable for him.”

Sirius grimaces, and Lupin clears his throat to suppress his laugh.

“James, are you hearing yourself?” Regulus asks.

“Yes? Why?”

Regulus slowly shakes his head. “Idiot.”

“Hey, don’t be mean,” James grins and gestures at him with his fork, “or I won’t take you to the theatre tomorrow.”

“So I’ll miss another rendition of Rome and Juliet? How will I ever survive?”

“Oh, quiet, you. I know you enjoyed it last time.”

“Hearsay.”

James smiles and continues eating. That smile is brighter than the sun, Regulus could swear.

“You know, a hunting accident would be a plausible cause of death for you,” Sirius interrupts Regulus’ admiration.

Regulus stares at his brother. It would be plausible, sure. Hunting accidents happen all the time. They could even invite a hunting party and stage a fall from his horse. He’d succumb to the injuries days later in private. They could do this sooner than later.

Despite written letters and choking guilt, the selfishness takes hold in Regulus’ words. “No. It would cast a negative light on James if my death had anything to do with him. Dying as part of his hunting party? The people would talk.”

“He’s right,” James says quickly. “People could spin it into heinous stories. Can’t he be ill and die from that? Later?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “All of you are missing a flair for the dramatic, my friends.”

***

Remus Lupin is possibly one of the luckiest servants in England. The fact that he got work at all after Reading seems a miracle. The fact that James knows about him and doesn’t mind is an even bigger miracle. Becoming a butler and being so close to the Viscount that he can afford to make comments that would have other men in other households fired, ruined, and dead, it all seems surreal when he looks back at his life before coming to Lioncrest.

Remus doesn’t mind the responsibilities and the hard work. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself had he as much time at his hands as the Lords of the house.

Well, he’d read, probably. He’d spend more time playing cards with Peter Pettigrew and gossiping with the other servants.

When Lord Regulus first arrived, Remus feared the estate's tone would change. A person other than James wouldn’t tolerate his behaviour and his needling. He bit his tongue whenever he was near the couple, and James would do something stupid, which happens often.

Remus even stopped himself from chewing James out for how he treated poor Miss Lily. But by now, a few months into the marriage of Regulus and James, Remus is relatively confident that Regulus wouldn’t mind his little insolence towards his husband.

Lord Regulus is an intelligent man. He is always polite, and Remus can’t tell why James thinks he is scary. He didn’t hesitate to take on the responsibility of hosting the Christmas Party and planning the event. He clenched his jaw and balled his hand into a fist every time he read a letter that addressed him as the Viscountess (or worse, with his old name), but he stayed focused on the task.

James has never had responsibilities regarding his friends staying at the estate, planning logistics of journeys or events, and Regulus evidently anticipate that. Even Sirius’ visit was coordinated by Regulus and the servants, while James simply waited for everything to magically fall into place. Any reasonable person would have complained. Regulus didn’t. Not even in private. Remus respects him.

On the evening of Sirius’ first day, the three men sit together in the drawing room until late at night. Sirius shares stories about Paris. When they finally retire, Remus sneaks to the kitchen and collects the French pastries he had ordered to be made earlier.

A few minutes later, he knocks on the door assigned to Sirius for his visit.

“Yes?”

Remus opens the door and peeks inside. “Good Evening, Sir. I wondered whether you’d like some of your horrible pastries.”

Sirius giggles. “Silly man, come in.”

Remus places the treats on the nearest table. Sirius, in his dressing shirt and trousers, comes over to him and wraps his arms around him from behind.

“I missed you,” Sirius whispers into his neck.

Remus turns to him. “I missed you, too. I was hoping you’d come sooner.”

“I had to finish up some business in France.” Sirius leans up and softly kisses one of the scars across his face. “I’d never leave you if I could.”

It’s a lie, Remus thinks. He cups Sirius’ face and kisses his lips. He was yearning to taste them again since dinner, since watching him drink the wine, licking his lips, biting, and smirking all in Remus’ presence like he didn’t know what he was doing.

But Sirius always knew what he was doing.

He knows it now, too. He knows it when his fingers grab his hair. He knows it when their lips push together and part and connect them intimately. He knows it when his hand pushes at his back to pull him closer, just to travel to the front to pull on the buttons of Remus’ shirt. He knows what he is doing with every caress, every lick, and every breath that grazes Remus’ skin.

They must look like madmen, hungry for each other, starving for touch.

Things and money mean little to Sirius. He cares nothing about the clothes that he tears in passion. He just cares about touching Remus. He cares about having him naked in his bed. He cares about kissing the scars that line his body. He cares about driving the most obscene noises from Remus’ lips, daring him to make himself heard by the inhabitants of the house.

Sirius brought vials of oils and lubricants with him. He pulls at the drawer to the bedside table, almost opening it with enough force to tip it over while Remus is under him, his spit-slicked hand clasped around them.

Sirius sits on his thighs, towering above him like a statue of the Renaissance masters. The candles draw golden shapes on his skin, kept white by the Parisian life. He blindly grabs the oils and spreads the contents on their hands. He lowers his body on him to kiss a bite-shaped scar on his shoulder. He likes to kiss where he was hurt before, erasing and replacing the memories. He reaches between them, taking Remus’ cock into his grasp and slathering it with oil.

Remus brings his hand around to Sirius’ bottom. He pulls the cheeks apart. Sirius traces one of the scars with his tongue. Remus rubs his fingers over his hole, frantically spreading the oil on him. Sirius licks over his skin like he has never tasted a better thing. He kisses his neck and gently bites him where he hasn’t been bitten before. Remus’ body is on fire, consumed by heat and the ever-present fear of losing this. He needs to be closer. He needs to be inside of Sirius. He needs their bodies to be one before this man slips out of his life again.

His finger slides into Sirius’ body without much resistance. He pushes it in and out, then again, harder, impatiently, needy. Sirius cries out in pleasure.

“Oh my god,” he breathes against his neck. “Remus,” he moans and kisses his lips again. He tastes like red wine and French afternoons.

Sirius moans against his mouth and pushes his tongue past Remus’ lips.

“More,” he moans, “Fuck me, take me, I’ve been waiting for so long.”

Remus likes playing with him sometimes. Sirius has all the power of his mind and body. He is as irresistible as he is unstoppable from leaving. He likes to deny him sometimes, just a bit, just to make him beg.

“Say please,” Remus whispers, still thrusting his finger in and out of him.

Sirius giggles and kisses his face, his neck and licks at his collarbone.

“I won’t if you don’t say it,” Remus threatens, knowing it is a contest about who gives in first. Remus wants to get inside of him. He wants to reacquaint their bodies at that level of intimacy that can only be achieved in the dead of night, naked, bathed in candlelight.

Sirius pumps his erection. He squeezes the base, drawing a low sound from his lover.

“Don’t be cruel to me, Remus. You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you. My body has been crying out for you, only, for weeks. I thought I’d come apart under my own hands without you.”

Remus can feel his brain folding into itself at Sirius’ words. Nothing else matters in the world when he talks like this.

He pulls out of him and harshly grabs Sirius’ hips, flipping them over and pushing Sirius into the mattress. Sirius looks up at him with darkened eyes, pulling back his knees and offering himself. His breath rises and falls heavily. He bites his lips as if to make Remus jealous of his teeth.

Remus puts his hands flatly on Sirius’ shoulders and rubs them over his skin, travelling south. His body is perfect, spread out before him, and offered gladly and willingly.

“Come back to me,” Sirius whispers, “Take me. I can’t wait anymore. You’re killing me.”

Remus pushes his hips against Sirius’ lifted bottom, rubbing his tip over his hole. His hand reaches up to his pretty face. He presses his thumb against Sirius’ bottom lip. He parts his lip and lightly kisses it.

“Please,” he says breathlessly.

Remus pushes his cock into him. Sirius throws his head back on the pillow. His long black hair is spread out under him like a halo. He cries out in pleasure and grabs the pillow.

Remus thrusts into him in deep, slow strokes, letting Sirius’ body get used to him again. He pinches his thigh, making a small bruise where only Sirius will ever see it. He will see it, and remember, and crave him again.

“Oh gods, oh Remus, yes – my – hell – yes, fuck me,” Sirius gasps incoherently. Remus grabs his hips and pulls him against him. He starts thrusting into him quicker, taking on a fast pace.

He would gladly go to prison for this again. Denying him this under the threat of punishment is the real immorality.

Sirius moans in rhythm with his thrust, one hand around his own cock. French words slip into his cries.

“Baise-moi plus fort, grand loup” – Remus has no idea what it means – he thinks the last part was his surname - but Sirius speaking in that strange mother tongue that he doesn’t understand always affects him. He leans over him to kiss the lips that uttered the words. Sirius moans breathlessly, muttering his name and hooking his ankles behind Remus’ body.

Remus moans Sirius’ name into his mouth, relentlessly thrusting into him. He places rough, open-mouthed kisses on Sirius’ neck and pinches his nipple, drawing more French from him.

“ça y est” and “encore" and “Remus” and “yes”

His skin is sticky and hot under Remus’ fingers. He tastes like salt and expensive perfumes. Pressure is building in Remus’ stomach. His body is about to rupture and come undone with the feeling of Sirius’ body all around him and his sweet voice by his ear.

Sirius drags his fingernails over Remus’ back, gasping his name and cursing the gods and the earth, and comes in thick white ropes over his stomach.

Remus snaps his hips forward. The bedframe hits the wall. He can feel his own climax approaching and quickly pulls out of Sirius. He winces at the loss of him. His hands lie next to his face on the pillow. He looks up at him out of hazy eyes, like a painting of lust and beauty. Remus tugs himself, gazing down at him like a picture in a dirty magazine. He comes on Sirius’ body, hitting his stomach and getting a lewd grin from the man as his reward.

Remus kneels between his legs, panting heavily. He leans down to him and kisses his lips, softly, this time, before falling on the mattress next to him. Sirius untucks the sheet to wipe his body clean.

When they are done, sweaty and spent, the bed stained and in disarray, Sirius doesn’t know what he is doing anymore. Remus is certain that he has no idea what he is doing when he places himself at his side, head, arm and leg over Remus’ body. He doesn’t know what he is doing when he is still kissing the scars and drawing little shapes around them with his fingers.

Remus doesn’t know what he is doing either when he lets Sirius do all of these things, runs his fingers through his hair, and kisses his forehead.

“I can’t believe I survived us being apart for so long,” Sirius whispers against him. “All day, I just wanted to kiss you and drag you off.”

Remus smiles. He is too lost in his feelings to regulate his speech when he is with Sirius. “I’ve heard you had many pretty Frenchmen to keep you company.”

Sirius lifts his head. He shouldn’t have said that. He drops his hand to Sirius’ thigh that lies across Remus’ hip and draws circles into his skin.

“What do you mean, Remus?”

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“Don’t be like that. Say your piece. You’ve never been shy with that mouth of yours.”

“I just… heard you talking about your time in Paris with Lord Potter.”

Sirius hums. “And? Is this about the boys I had in Paris? You know I have lovers. I’ve always been transparent about that.”

It’s true. When they met years ago, Remus was just another lover. Sirius had many of those. The beautiful French with the piercing eyes and long, black hair took one look at Remus and decided he had to have him. He had told him so afterwards. Sirius kept seeking him out whenever he visited James. He took Remus by surprise, seduced him, kissed him, and reminded him what it felt like to be alive.

Sirius has many admirers and lovers, and he isn’t shy with the stories, mainly because James finds them amusing. Remus didn’t expect it to happen as often as it did. He was the only one at the estate, possibly the whole town, that would sleep with Sirius, he imagined.

But then Sirius said he missed him for the first time. He said Remus is his favourite. He said Remus is incomparable, unforgettable, untouchable. He said if James didn’t live here, he’d find any excuse imaginable to come and see Remus still.

It is an impossible task not to lose yourself in prison. But Sirius brought him back. And whenever Sirius isn’t with him, it feels like a part of Remus is gone, too.

He knows he is one of many. He just doesn’t want to be. He knows he is Sirius’ favourite. He just wants to be the only one.

“Are you jealous?” Sirius asks after a stretch of silence.

Remus looks away. Sirius kisses his cheek.

“Don’t be jealous. I’d rather be with you than a thousand other men.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not my place to be jealous. You can do as you please.”

“Not your place? I imagine it is your place if anyone’s. If that is what you want… I will stop taking lovers.”

Remus bites his lip. “Would you really?”

“I don’t want to see you upset. Although, there are a few very famous, very hot and talented individuals that I cannot promise resisting should they try to love me a little.”

“I can get behind that thought,” Remus says with a smile, “but the random men? Men like me?”

“No man is like you. I wouldn’t let anyone else stay a single night in my bed. You? I beg you to stay.”

Remus hums slightly and draws a star on Sirius’ thigh.

“I’ll be true to you,” Sirius promises. “Will you be true to me?”

It is not like Remus gets many opportunities to sleep with other men. Yet, he feels compelled to return the promise.

Sirius pulls his face down to him so he can kiss him.

Finally, Remus gently pushes Sirius off and slips out of bed to get the pastries.

Sirius watches him from the bed, lying there in all his naked glory.

“Cover yourself, Harlot,” Remus mutters, “I ordered these to be made just for you.”

Remus places the plate on the mattress and crawls back to Sirius.

Sirius kisses him with delight and scoops up one of the pastries. “What have you got there?” He asks, gesturing to the letter in Remus’ hands. He picked it out of the mail earlier and stored it in his pocket.

“A letter from Regulus.”

“Regulus wrote you a letter?” Sirius asks around the pastry.

“No, he wrote a letter to Lily Evans.”

Sirius stops chewing. He swallows audibly.

“James’s Lily?”

“Yes.”

Sirius slowly licks his lip. “Did he tell her he was about to get married?”

“No. She found out through the town’s gossip.”

Sirius hums. “She must be relieved. She surely became annoyed with him some time ago.”

“She was angry. She slapped him, can you imagine? Slapping a Viscount?”

“You slap me all the time.”

“You beg me to. And you’re not a Viscount.” Remus smiles and reaches out to slap his arse.

Sirius giggles and rolls on his back. “So, why is Regulus writing letters to Miss Lily? Does he even know her?”

“They met in the gallery down in the Pot. He purchased one of her paintings, and when she delivered it, he was in the room when she hit Lord Potter.”

“Does he know the story between them?”

“I assume so. At least rudimentarily. I doubt Lord Potter is very keen on telling how unsuccessful his courtship has been for years. … Lily was distraught. She believes no other man will court her because the Viscount was interested.”

“That’s nonsense. She is beautiful and respected. Besides, from how I remember her, I can’t say she has ever been particularly interested in marriage, whether to James or someone else. Do you believe she loved him after all?”

“I can’t say, really. Maybe yes. Maybe not. Maybe she was disappointed.”

Sirius sighs deeply. “Still, why are you stealing Regulus’ mail?”

“You told me to look out for him. That’s all I’m doing. Although, I’m looking out for Lily, too. Who knows what your brother wrote in here to incriminate himself or hurt her.”

“He’s too smart for the former, too indifferent for the latter. Go on. Open it.”

Remus had opened the envelope over steam before. He takes the letter out and unfolds it.

Dear Miss Evans,

I am writing to you not out of obligation or at another’s request but purely for the benefit of James Potter’s good name. I cannot let an arrangement cloud your picture of his excellent character. I must inform you that James’ marriage to me was not an act of love or disloyalty to you. You mustn’t count it against any promises and sweet secrets he has told you. It is simply this: I am of frail health and body, with a family that has proven unfit to care for me and a brother who loves me dearly. As you know, my brother and James are old friends. Their friendship birthed our marriage as a mere favour. I am set to succumb to my health within the following year. I am to die a good woman of a good name. James is to become a young widower, eligible to marry again. If you truly love him, as I am sure he loves you, you will talk to him again and hear him out. You may come to an understanding that you become his second wife, as you are already the wife of his choosing.

V.V. Potter, Viscountess of Gryffindor

Remus frowns at the letter. He signed it with his initials instead of his name. It’s not the curious part. The curious part is the ardent praise for James’ character.

Sirius bites his lip. “It’s kind,” he says after a long time. “And weirdly sad.”

Remus nods. Then, he rips the letter in half, folds it and rips it again.

“What are you doing?”

“This doesn’t help anyone. I’m not convinced Lily loves James. Moreover, I’m not convinced Lord James loves Lily anymore.”

Sirius looks up at him, confused. “James has always loved Lily.”

“Idolized her, sure. Loved her, yes, at some point. But we know him rather well. In recent years, was it pure love or determinism and ego? When I talked about her with him recently, his sentiment wasn’t that he wished her to be his bride but happy. They should both move on from this. He can find someone to love who loves him with the same intensity. She can find someone she actually loves instead of being watered down and coerced into a marriage she doesn’t want.”

Sirius hums and takes the scraps of paper from Remus’ hands. He drops them into an ashtray on his bedside table and sets them on fire. “You don’t believe in marriage either way.”

“I have slept with too many married men and comforted too many married women to believe in the concept. Nowadays, women marry because they are promised romance, and men marry to sleep with upstanding women and virgins. Men believe women do not like sex, but I bet sufficient women marry for sex, too. Then they sleep with selfish men who don’t like them and think sex and romance are the problem. And faster than you can look, two people who hate each other are trapped in a marriage, and divorce is significantly easier for one than for the other.”

“Careful now, Remus. Your Londoner is showing.” Sirius kisses one of the scars on his face.

“Maybe the city has ruined me,” Remus says softly, running his fingers through Sirius’ hair. “And now the countryside will ruin me even more and make me believe in love.”

“How horrible,” Sirius agrees with a smile. He traces a large scar on Remus’ chest. “The French countryside made me disbelieve in the happiness of life. The city cured that.”

“Only because you equate your happiness to decadence and sex.”

“People who grew up in families like mine are easy to please with the smallest slivers of kindness, dear. You should know that by now.”

“Is the kindness I’m showing you small?”

“Nothing about you is small, Remus,” Sirius smirks, pulling Remus into another kiss.

***

Chapter Text

„Had I committed a crime against nature when my own nature found peace and happiness thereby?“ Teleny 129

Regulus is overseeing the decorating of the Manor. He has an eye for details and imperfections.

“Something isn’t right,” Regulus says thoughtfully, staring at the Christmas tree.

“It’s your turn,” Sirius says. They are playing chess in the drawing room. James is betting money on who wins.

Regulus makes his move. “Maybe I should have had it placed in the Ballroom after all. It looks so stuffy in here. But we will barely be in the ballroom as opposed to here. …There’s an imbalance in the colours.”

“You had the servants change it three times already. They will start spitting in your dinner if you keep it up.”

“Come on, Reg, have a cigar and a drink. Calm down. Everything looks perfect,” James smiles and pushes the case with the cigars over to him.

“How would you know? You think the Arcimboldos are perfect art. I wouldn’t even trust your taste in shades of white for the napkins.”

“You chose white for the napkins?” Sirius asks and tuts.

“Sirius, don’t be mean,” James gently hits Sirius’ arm.

“I’m not. Regulus is being dramatic. You’re just nervous because you have to spend a week with the family and host this visit. You brought this on yourself. We could have very well circumvented this by claiming you’re ill and need to spend the holidays in Italy.”

“Can you imagine how much the people would talk?” Regulus shakes his head. “I could send out a newsletter saying ‘James Potter married a lazy fat cow too embarrassing to be shown in public, and too selfish to fulfil her duties’ for the same effect.”

“So?”

“So? Why ruin a perfectly good name and reputation? Everything James’ wife does or doesn’t do falls back on him. We all know how this works. Check.”

Sirius stares at the board. He has been losing for the last five rounds without realising.

“It will be all right, Reg,” James says softly. “I admire how much you care, but don’t exert yourself for my sake, okay?”

“You are a country gentleman, James. You are unaware of the public gossip and the speed with which it is shared in your whole county or the magnitude of it. Sirius, Check Mate.”

Sirius grumbles something about “Stupid chess” and takes a cigar. “You need to get cigarettes, James. Cigars are so unfashionable. Did you lose your bet with yourself?”

“No. I set my money on Regulus. Sorry, my friend.”

“Traitor,” Sirius mutters around his cigar as he lights it.

Regulus stares at the tree again. He rings for Lupin. “Mr Lupin, call on Mr Weasley and his boys. I need this tree reorganised.”

***

Regulus is staring at his hands. The wedding ring gleams on the left side and a few carefully chosen pieces adorn his other fingers. Pandora has gathered up his curls and pinned them up in a way that makes it look like it's longer, befitting a lady. He is pressed into a traditional corset and layers of skirts and dress. Violet for today. Green for Christmas Eve. Red for Christmas Day. Silver for New Year's Eve. Regulus thought if he coordinated everything meticulously enough, it would be easier. It’s not.

The parents are set to arrive today. There will be a festive dinner for immediate family on Christmas Eve. The rest of the guests will arrive on Christmas Day, which concludes with the grand dinner Regulus has planned. Most of them will stay until the new year, which demands another grand celebration.

“Have you ever met the Earl and Countess?” Pandora asks as she walks around him to check his appearance for errors.

“At the wedding, briefly. And before that, at my engagement dinner. The countess seemed nice.”

“You must be terribly nervous.”

“The prospect of my own parents coming is worse.”

Pandora gives him a tight smile and adjusts a curl of his hair. She leads him to his mirror to look at himself. Regulus can feel a shudder rippling through his body. He looks like the perfect Viscountess.

“Reggie!” James’ voice echoes through the hallways excitedly. “Are you ready? They’re here!”

Regulus steps away from the mirror. He hopes James won’t call him beautiful.

Pandora opens the door to the bedroom, and Regulus steps out. James is waiting, beaming at him.

He looks him up and down. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

Regulus wraps his arms around his body.

“You look…”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

“appropiate.”

Regulus looks up at him. He nods slowly. “Thank you.”

“Now, come. Take a breath, and let us go downstairs. I can’t have Sirius be the first one to greet my parents.

The greeting of the Earl and Countess goes smoothly. James’ grandmother, the Dowager Countess, is with them. She is old and quiet. Regulus is too aware of his own breathing and how his body moves against the corset. The fabric of the skirts touches his legs, smoothing along the stockings underneath in a way that makes him want to peel back his skin.

In the first hour, Regulus barely says a word. He half forgets to react to his given name a couple of times. Luckily, James and Sirius demand all the attention.

Regulus’ parents arrive a few hours later. His mother takes a long look at him. “The English air doesn’t become you,” she says and then demands cognac with her tea.

Regulus is preoccupied with how his dress clings to his skin. The voices and faces blur.

“What do you think of Lyopot, dear?” The voice of the countess finally rings through.

Regulus looks up at her. “Oh, it is perfectly charming, Lady Gryffindor. The market and the bookshop are lovely, and the people are nice. They seem to love your son.”

“Yes, everyone loves him,” she says with a sweet smile. “There was a time every girl in this place was in love with him and wrote him letters. Can you imagine?”

“Yes, I can.”

“He couldn’t have been that sought-after if he ended up marrying this one,” his mother mutters next to him.

The countess looks at Madame Black with raised eyebrows. “What a curious thing to say about your own daughter, Madame. I’m sure you didn’t intend it to sound as negatively as it did.”

She turns to Regulus. “Did I upset you, girl?”

Regulus clenches his jaw and then smiles at his mother. “Of course not, Mother. I apologise, my Lady. It is the language barrier, I’m afraid. My mother is used to the rougher tones of France. She does not mean harm.”

“I see.”

And Regulus realises that his biggest problem with this visit isn’t his comfort or impressing his in-laws, but stopping his own mother from embarrassing and insulting so many people that James’ parents will personally file a divorce for him and James.

Walburga and alcohol are a vicious combination. But Walburga is such a nasty character that it seems too easy a thing to blame her behaviour on the wine. Sometimes, it is unclear which is worse: a sober or a drunk Madame Black.

Before dinner is served, Regulus seeks out Mr Lupin and firmly instructs him that his mother will not be given any more alcohol. It doesn’t really help.

During the dinner, Walburga accomplishes to insult the country, the queen, and the estate in a manner of minutes. Monsieur Black stays silent and gets drunk in his own right. He attempts polite conversation with the Potters and compliments Regulus on his dress but ultimately gives up.

“Are you really eating all that?” Walburga asks towards the end of dinner when dessert is served. “Look at you. No wonder you are not pregnant yet. The man must feel like sleeping next to a walrus.”

“Madame Black,” James exclaims and stands, “I will ask you only once to stop insulting my wife. He – she is beautiful. And if you would set that drink down for a while, you might actually be able to see that.”

“James,” Regulus whispers, “sit down, please.”

Walburga looks at him and then at Regulus and huffs. “You claim she’s beautiful and call her a ‘he’ in the same sentence? Did you hear that, my dear? Your husband thinks you look like a man.”

“James,” Regulus whispers more firmly.

“I will make one thing very clear, Madame. You are in my home. You will respect my spouse, or I will ask you to leave.”

James sits down again. He boldly reaches for Regulus’ hand as if to make a statement. Regulus knows he means well, but really, this can only make matters worse.

The Earl clears his throat and decides to compliment the dinner, which does little to resolve the tension. The footmen continue bringing the plates with the dessert around. One of the Weasley boys, the son of one of the Gardeners, offers one to Regulus. Barely looking at it, he shakes his head for him to go on.

***

Regulus uses the excuse of his frail health to stay inside his rooms for the next day. He only comes out for the Christmas Eve dinner. The formal green dress is far more revealing than the purple day and evening dresses of the day before. Regulus’ hands are clammy by the time he reaches downstairs. He can feel his skin too much. He reminds himself to keep his shoulders slightly pressed down so his arm and torso don’t connect. If they do, the flesh of the arm is pushed out and looks twice as big.

“Reg,” James says with a pleasant smile when he enters the drawing room. He quickly corrects himself to the other name. Regulus decided he hated hearing it from him. “Are you feeling better, …Darling?”

James offers his arm to him and leads him over to the sofas, hoping no one noticed his slip of name.

“I must apologise for my absence today. I was feeling quite ill, I’m afraid.” Regulus sits down on one of the couches.

The Dowager makes a biting remark under her breath. The countess looks at him sympathetically. “Are you sure you are feeling better? You are quite pale.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m generally of delicate health. The cold temperatures must have upset me. But I feel better now.”

“I see,” she says and throws a non-discrete glance at Walburga.

The Dowager does the same and then gestures towards Regulus. “That is a very nice dress you are wearing.”

“Thank you, Lady Gryffindor. Lyopot’s tailors have proven quite talented. Or at least good in following directions.”

“Do you think so, suddenly?” James laughs. “You’ve sent all your clothes back at least once to be altered before you were happy with them.”

“I said good, not quick. Imagine your potential if you let me return some of your clothes for alterations.”

“Are you accusing me of being dressed inadequately, darling?”

“Oh, I’d never dream of saying such a thing. In public.”

The countess giggles, delighted. “Isn’t young love such a nice thing?”

James reaches for Regulus’ hand and smiles and kisses his gloved fingers. Regulus impressively refrains from rolling his eyes.

“James, don’t sit on the armrest. Really, I thought at least marriage ought to instil some manners in you at last,” the Dowager says.

“I just want to be close to my poor, ill wife, granny. Besides, Father is talking about Darwin again.” He gestures to their fathers and Sirius at the other end of the drawing room.

The door to the drawing room opens, and Lupin steps in. “Dinner is ready, my Lady.”

“Thank you, Lupin.”

The dinner is more extravagant than the day before, as it is Christmas Eve. The Countesses and Madame Black are dressed in beautiful gowns and decked out in second-best jewellery. Regulus suspects they reserve the best for Christmas Day, as does he.

Regulus has planned the colour scheme of the table decorations to match his outfits. He advised James’ valet Mr Pettigrew to pick out waistcoats of the same colours. He looks splendid in green, as it turns out. He is excited to see him in red for tomorrow.

Regulus reminds himself to keep his arms away from his body. When he isn’t talking, he is too aware of his skin. He doesn’t speak for most of the evening, though. It doesn’t take long for his mother to get to talking again. She picks up on the colour coordination and rips it to shreds verbally.

“You have always thought yourself awfully clever. You’re nothing but a silly little girl. I should have sold you as a child. I would have fewer problems. Both of you, actually. Sirius, sit up straight. You are making a fool out of yourself.” She speaks in quick French, but James understands her perfectly well.

He doesn’t stand up this time but starts a discussion over the dinner table, ignoring the countess’s attempts to calm him down.

“How can a mother be so cruel to her own children?” James asks by the time dessert comes around.

“Some families strive for perfection and are disgraced by children unwilling to give it.”

“I think your children are perfect. And if you disagree so much, why did you insist on joining us here?”

She turns to her husband. “I didn’t want to come.”

“Is it a crime that I wanted to see my daughter after she has been shipped off to this place?” Monsieur Black mutters into his wine.

It takes Regulus all his willpower not to run out of the room. He will not embarrass himself in front of his in-laws any further by doing so.

He retires as soon as possible after dinner.

***

Over the course of the next day, the rest of the guests are set to arrive. Regulus feels genuinely ill in the morning. The prospect of having to make conversation all day, lying about his married life, while wearing fancy dresses and being complimented for the appearance he hates.

Pandora helps him into his daytime dress. Since he is married, it is not customary for him to eat breakfast downstairs with James. They have been doing it because he is not his wife. But now, with guests in the house, he is glad he can take advantage of this custom and stay away from people until he absolutely has to go downstairs.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Yes?”

“It’s James. May I come in?”

Pandora nods at him to signal that she is finished dressing him. He bids James inside.

“Good morning. May I speak with you for a moment?”

“Of course. I think that’s all Pandora. Could you see that my jewellery for tonight is polished?”

“Right away. Everything will be so spotless, not even the Madame will find something to critique.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Regulus mumbles and looks expectantly at James as Pandora leaves the room.

“How are you feeling?”

“Awful. Sick. Slightly suicidal.”

“I’m so sorry. We shouldn’t have done this. We should have made up an excuse for your absence.”

“I brought this on myself, James. I thought I could handle it better. …I guess I’ve got so used to being treated and addressed in the way I’ve been dreaming of that coming back to this hits twice as hard. But I’ll survive.”

“You’re doing so well, Regulus. Really. My parents love you if that is any consolation.”

Regulus hums. “Not really. I assume they hate my mother?”

“It’s been years since I’ve seen my grandmother get as passionate about something as she has been about her hate for that woman.”

Regulus hums. “I find her rather tame this time around.”

“Is there anything I or Sirius can do to make it easier for you?”

Regulus crosses the room to stand in front of him. “There is, actually. Could you tell Sirius to occupy Mother’s attention while I entertain the rest of the guests?”

“That is his plan anyway.”

“Good. And you, promise me two things.”

“Anything, Regulus.”

“Do not fight with my mother. Nothing good ever comes of it. She provokes for the sake of it. She insults me and Sirius to cope with her miserable little life. We can take it, trust me. We grew up with the same tirades. When we spoke up as children, she’d lock us into the garden shed for the night to teach us manners.”

“She did what?”

“She did many things. The point is, you let her say her piece, ignore her, and move on. You’re only making it worse. Especially since now, she is aware that you take offence to her words.”

“How could I not take offence to it? She is insulting my best friend. She is insulting you. I can’t let her get away with it. Especially in front of my family.”

“Yes, you can. Promise me.”

“Reg…”

“Promise me, James.”

James sighs deeply and nods. “I promise. …And what is the second thing?”

Regulus licks his lip. “Don’t leave me alone?”

James smiles and gently takes his hand. “Never.”

***

Regulus and James go downstairs to wait for the rest of the guests to arrive. James’ parents are in the library. The Earl is standing in front of the portrait of his young sister, telling stories to Sirius. Sirius loves James’ parents as much as he does, and the Earl and Countess seem to have taken in Sirius as a second son in return.

As soon as they enter the library, the Countess stands up and approaches them.

“Good morning, my dear.”

“Good morning, Mother.”

She smiles and turns to Regulus. “You look so dreadfully pale again. Are you all right?”

“Thank you, my Lady. It’s just the nerves, I’m afraid.”

“I understand. James, do join Sirius and your father. I want to speak to your wife alone.”

James hesitantly looks at Regulus. “It’s okay, go.”

James only leaves him reluctantly and keeps looking over while talking to his father.

“Come, my dear, take a walk with me,” the countess says, leading him out of the library.

Regulus can hear his blood rushing in his ears. He can’t guess what James’ mother will have to say, but he doubts it will be pleasant.

“You must calm yourself, dear,” she says gently, “All this stress isn’t good for your health.”

“I can’t help it, I’m afraid. I simply don’t want to embarrass James. So, everything has to be perfect.”

She seems pleased with his answer. “I must say, I was unsure about you at first. Your family doesn’t have a title in France, your dowery was significantly smaller than that of the Ladies whom we considered as brides, and I didn’t think James loved you. But Sirius and James wanted this union, so we agreed. I wondered long what the reason might have been. God forbid, when Sirius came rushing into my drawing room and told James to marry you, I feared the worst for your character. But now that I had the pleasure to experience your mother a few more times, I assume that it was her behaviour that drove Sirius to arrange this marriage. Am I correct?”

Regulus refuses to acknowledge even the possibility of his mother’s presence being some kind of blessing in disguise.

“Yes, my Lady. My brother loves me more than anything. He couldn’t see me staying in that house with our parents.”

“Sirius has always been a good man. And you are a very good woman, I dare say. I wonder where you two got it from.”

She leads him into the first sitting room.

“My son has a big heart. Sometimes I fear too big. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he married for the good of someone else instead of money or even love in the end.”

“Dare I say that I do think James married me out of love after all?”

“Oh?”

“Not love for me. But he loves Sirius like a brother. It seems motivation enough for me.”

She ponders this for a moment. “You may be right. You better not live to make him regret his choices.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Good. I am a simple woman at the end of the day. I am a mother who wants to see her son happy.”

“I try my hardest, my Lady.”

She smiles pleasantly. “Yes, I can see that. And now, considering your circumstances, you will make him very happy soon.”

Regulus stops dead in his tracks and looks at her, confused. “Circumstances?”

“Well, yes, dear.” She looks at him like he is being silly. “Oh, don’t try to hide it from me. You are as white as a sheet whenever I see you and constantly unwell. You are with child, aren’t you? That is why you stay in your room for such extended times, and James is so protective of you. Isn’t it?”

Regulus blinks at her. The thought is truly dreadful. On the other hand, it is the perfect excuse to get himself out of these social situations without losing face with James’ mother.

“Yes. You are quite right. I am with child, but we did not tell anyone yet and don’t plan to until at least the end of January, so I must implore you not to tell.”

“Of course, dear. And do not worry; I understand you want to stay alone upstairs sometimes. The first pregnancy especially is scary.” She sits down and gestures for him to do the same. “And you really must not stress or exert yourself. Pregnancies are exhausting and frightening, but I dare say miscarriages are far worse.”

If his little lie didn’t just create his way out, he would feel guilty for the look Euphemia gives him. She is a rather old woman with a relatively young son, who is an only child at that.

“My James always wanted to be a father; did you know? He wanted to marry that young painter from the village whose father my mother-in-law supports. James would go on and on about the children they’d have. He must have been thrilled when you told him. He wants nothing more than a child of his own.”

Regulus bites his tongue and fists the fabric of his dress. Now, he feels the guilt clouding his head. James won’t have children for a long time. His wife won’t give him any, then she will die, and he will have to find a new wife first to finally father children.

The door opens to the sitting room, and James steps him. “There you are. You almost sent poor Lupin into a frenzy at the thought of looking for you. The guests are arriving.”

The countess smiles and stands up.

“James,” Regulus says, “come here for a second. We will join you in a minute, Countess.”

James rushes over to him when Euphemia leaves. “What is it? What has she said?”

“Nothing bad. But listen: I’m pregnant.”

“What?”

“She assumed, and I didn’t have the heart to disagree. She thinks it’s the perfect explanation for my health and why I’m always staying upstairs. You know and are extremely excited, but we decided not to tell anyone until the end of January. Do you understand?”

“That’s a rather big lie, don’t you think?”

“I would have never made it up, but she is absolutely convinced. So, just go with it. Maybe I can die the most honourable death ascribed to women and die in childbirth.” Regulus rolls his eyes and stands up.

“Don’t be so grim, Regulus. You cannot make me fake that much grief. I’d be expected never to recover.”

“You’re spending too much time with Sirius. His dramatics are rubbing off on you. Now, let us meet your family.”

***

Lupin is very fond of James’ family. He isn’t very fond of some of the servants that come with them. He is aware that he is awfully young for his position, and many older servants don’t respect him. So, he needs to be focused on all the details even more than usual. Thanks to Regulus’ nervous planning, there are many details. Lupin has the slight hunch that Regulus would be willing to fire every single one of them if they do not follow his colour schemes.

“Mr Rosier is set to arrive any second with the Tremblays and Abbots. Mrs McGonagall, Pettigrew, Footmen, Maids outside. Come on. Stop delaying.”

They leave through the backdoor and walk along the discreet path from the servant’s door to the front.

“Lord Abbot is the only one not to bring his valet. Gideon, as first Footmen, you will fill that role for him this visit.”

“Yes, Mr Lupin. You’ve said so many times.”

Lupin glares at the Footman – who is older than him by a few years but still finds him rather intimidating. The scars do help with that.

The handful of servants that are part of the greeting party assemble outside. Lupin, McGonagall, Pettigrew, Sybil, the Footmen Gideon and Fabian, and two Underfootmen and a Maid to help with the luggage and leading the guests to their rooms.

Opposite them assemble the Earl, the Countess, James and Regulus. Sirius must have stayed inside to keep his mother at bay, and the Dowager Countess likely doesn’t see the arrival of her daughters-in-law’s cousins as enough reason to stand up.

Mr Rosier arrives with the grand carriage. Behind him, Charlie, the groom, drives a second carriage for the servants and extra luggage.

The Potter family hasn’t been a strong one in generations. Lord Fleamont Potter, Earl of Gryffindor, had only one sister who died young. As it stands, Fleamont only has one living relative besides his mother, a second cousin by the name of Longbottom, who is supposed to arrive later in the day.

As of now, the countess’s cousins and sister have arrived. The Lord and Lady Tremblay are her first and third cousins, respectively. He is divorced, and she has been hoping for an engagement with James and rejected many more appropriate suitors in the process. The recently widowed sister is Lady Euginia Abbot, accompanied by her son Lord Henry Abbot.

Remus expects two things from these people: Lady Rowena Tremblay will try to embarrass Regulus to make herself look good in front of James, and Lord Abbot will get so drunk he will confuse the Countess with his mother and start insulting her. He also suspects that no one has warned Regulus about this.

Lupin and the servants follow the guests inside and take their coats while the Underfootmen carry the luggage upstairs.

“Lord Abbot, since you travel without your valet this year, I assigned Gideon to aid you.”

“Ah, yes, thank you. I always forget how much this household loves red-haired servants.” Lord Abbot looks Gideon up and down.

“If you like to refresh yourself after the train ride, the servants will gladly show you to your rooms right away.”

Maybe it will give Regulus and Sirius some sort of consolation that the Duchess’ family has its black sheep as much as theirs.

The guests scatter until only Regulus and James stand in the hall with Remus.

“Do you need a minute, or shall we join the others in the drawing room?” James asks.

“I’m fine,” Regulus mumbles and looks at Remus. “Lupin, is everything going according to plan downstairs?”

“Yes, my Lord. I have Sybil and Hannah setting up the dining room right now. Poppy and the kitchen maids have been working preparing dinner since this morning, and I will have Fabian up with sandwiches and tea in the drawing room in five minutes.”

“Make that ten, please.”

“Very well, my Lord.”

“And remember, the gilded candelabras, not the silver.”

“Yes, my Lord. Gold and Red.”

“Exactly. Gold and Red,” he nods and takes deep breaths. James reaches for his hands.

“Breathe, Regulus. It will be all right. With my mother’s cousins here, you won’t have all the attention on you anymore.”

“I hope so. Thank you, Lupin, that is all.”

“Good luck.”

Regulus frowns at him and then at James, who just smiles and pulls him to the drawing room.

As soon as the pair is out of sight, Remus dashes off to the antechamber for the dining room, where they keep silverware and decorations.

The poor maid setting the table almost has a heart attack when he comes running in.

“Mr Lupin, what is the meaning of this?”

“The gilded candelabras, not the silver. I forgot to polish them. Do not put out any candelabras. I will place them myself later.” He grabs the large candlesticks and carries them downstairs.

The kitchen is bustling with Poppy yelling at the poor kitchen maids, who say “Yes, Mrs Pomfrey” in unison every few minutes.

“I will be in my office. Mrs McGonagall, you will take care of the guest servants, right?”

McGonagall, an older woman who likely still sees him as a child (justified, considering he is about 30 years her junior), just looks at the candelabras. “Of course, Mr Lupin. If those aren’t polished and placed in time, you better not try and blame my maids.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Remus nods and slips into his office. Polishing isn’t necessarily his job, but he cannot expense a footman to do it right now, especially not in front of the guest servants. They might tell them how late he is with the task.

A tentative knock in a curious pattern comes from the door. “Yes, Pandora.”

The girl sticks her head in with a smile. “I saw you running down. Would you like some help with that?”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“The dress for tonight is prepared. I have time to spare.”

“Good, come in, sit down, help me polish. And stop knocking in code. People will start to think bad things of you.”

“People like to take the joy out of life, Sir,” Pandora says with a smile and sits down opposite him. “Why are you so nervous? It isn’t like you to forget things like this.”

“If His Lordship finds the wrong decorations in the dining room, he will rip my head off.”

“Which of his Lordships would do such a thing?” she laughs.

“All of them. In order. Lord Regulus, Lord James, Lord Sirius."

“You worry too much.”

“I believe the servants should worry as much as their employers at times.”

Pandora looks at him with raised eyebrows. “If you tried to be as nervous as Lord Regulus, you’d implode.”

“Is he in very bad shape?”

“I’ve never seen him so gloomy. He looks at the dresses like they personally wronged him. He never eats breakfast anymore, either. He makes me eat half of what I bring to his bedchamber in the morning, so no one suspects he doesn’t eat.”

“He barely eats for dinner, either. I can’t say whether it’s just nerves or that dreadful mother of his. A more vicious woman has never lived, I assure you.”

Pandora stops polishing and leans in. “Do you think that is why he doesn’t want to be a woman? Because his mother is such a bad example of one?”

Remus looks back at her. “Some people just are the way they are. We disagree with nature.”

“Disagree with nature? If you put it like that, it sounds like madness.”

“There are only two options, Pandora. Either it is God and Nature that is mistaken or the law. I refuse to believe that it is us people who don’t do any harm that are wrong. Has Lord Regulus done you any harm?”

“Of course not, Mr Lupin! He is too kind.”

“And he is very fond of you. So, I will refrain from mentioning your theory about him and his mother to any of them.”

The girl swallows thickly. “I didn’t mean any insult, I - …Thank you, Mr Lupin.”

“Now, keep polishing. I want these upstairs before the next guests arrive.”

“Who is still set to come?”

“The Baron Crouch, his wife and son. And Lord Potter’s cousin, Lord Longbottom and his wife.”

“Are they nice? I’d hate for Lord Regulus to have more trouble than he has as of now.”

“From all the people coming to this house, the Longbottoms will be his smallest concern. In fact, the Lady will likely be thrilled about his existence. She must think, now that James has a wife, he will have an heir soon enough. Lady Longbottom is a modern woman and doesn’t want to be a countess. Can you believe it? Her husband is next in line after Lord Potter if there is no heir. If all the women stopped marrying for status, the men of this country would soon fall into ruin when they see themselves confronted with the fact that they do not have much else to offer.”

“How do you know all of these things?”

“I am the butler. I ought to know everything about this family. Are you done with this?” Remus grabs the candelabra. “I have to bring these upstairs. And Pandora, one piece of advice: The Lady’s Maid of the countess’s sister is an awful woman. She preys on kind and delightful people. I want you to never listen to one word she utters in your direction.”

“Yes, Mr Lupin.”

The arrival of the Baron and Baroness and the Longbottoms goes rather smoothly. James and the Baron’s son have never been friends. The young man enjoys a bit of needling in his own right, and he likes to needle James subtly until he explodes. Come to think of it, between Lord Henry, Lady Rowena, Madame Black, and young Bartemius Crouch, any room turns into a powder keg set to explode in James’ and Regulus’ faces.

Regulus is dressed in a gorgeous dark red dress. His dark curls are pinned up to make it look like his hair is much longer. Pandora adorned it with a few gleaming pins. The other women are wearing tiaras. Regulus’ eyes look startlingly silver but go unfocused every once in a while during these dinners. He rubs his arms and picks at his gloves. He tries to play it down, and any person who has never seen him needling James and laughing into his wine in waistcoats and trousers might simply consider him of a general grim disposition. Who knows the difference, however, might find it rather startling to see him in such a state.

Remus can only imagine how Sirius must feel seeing his brother like this.

The first few appetisers go by smoothly. Regulus refuses wine today, which is rather unlike him.

As they go around the table, offering the main course, Lady Rowena Tremblay decides to open her mouth. “I must say, I am pleasantly surprised. When I heard that it wouldn’t be the Countess who is hosting, I was worried we were to celebrate Christmas like French peasants.”

She laughs sweetly. Lord Tremblay joins her.

“Rowena,” the countess warns her.

“What? Is that something to be ashamed of? Lord James must be content with his choice. If one chooses, one must deal with it when proper society finds out.”

“I am quite content with my choice. Thank you, Rowena.”

“And when proper society finds out, I am sure James can deal with them. I don’t see any proper society on your side of the table, though,” Regulus says.

Lady Rowena looks at him in shock. Her eyes almost bulge out of her head. Remus, very professionally, makes his mouth not even twitch. James doesn’t see the need to put on quite as much self-restraint and smirks at his cousin.

“For your information, my family is quite wealthy. We were English nobility before going to France.”

“And yet, you didn’t have the shadow of a title before, and now you are Viscountess. Curious. Rather fast, too.”

All eyes at the table fall on Regulus.

Sirius puts his silverware down. “Lady Rowena, I do hope I did misunderstand you just there. Help me out; I’m just a native Frenchman, but you did not just insinuate any insult to my sibling’s character, did you?”

This is where Madame Black decides to speak up – or laugh.

“Be quiet, Mother. Lady Rowena, we await your apology.”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on her,” Baron Crouch’s son speaks up. “She can’t help it. She is bound to judge others by her own character. Isn’t that right, Lady Rowena?”

“I do not know what you are insinuating, Mr Crouch.”

“Oh, don’t you? Interesting how you seem to know all sorts of things about our lovely hostess who has made such efforts to please us, yet you cannot seem to remember Lady Birkenshire’s little soiree last May. Allow me to refresh your memory: You were wearing that lovely yellow thing, and your lipstick was-“

“That is quite enough, Bartemius,” the Baron exclaims. “I must apologise for my son, as always.”

“Oh, but it just got interesting,” Lord Abbot laughs and gestures for his third glass of wine. “I have to say, my Lady, you do stir up these dinners quite a bit.” He raises his glass towards Regulus. “Lord Longbottom, what do you think of her? As soon as she pops out an heir for our dear Viscount, you are officially out of the succession.”

The countess shakes her head. “Henry. Can’t you get a hold of yourself for once? We are among guests, and you are making a terrible impression.”

“Euphemia,” her sister’s whiny voice follows instantly, “How dare you speak to my son like that? His father just died, for heaven’s sake.”

“Still, please refrain from drinking any more or putting Mr Longbottom on the spot.”

“It’s quite all right, Lady Gryffindor,” Lord Longbottom says. “I do apologise to the Viscountess. You see, Lord Henry is rather bitter because his ambition proves fruitless time and time again, and he expects the rest of us to be as power-hungry as him. I am very happy for you both. My wife is even happier; I dare say.”

Lady Longbottom nods to Regulus with a smile.

“Your folk is so boring, you likely cannot even spell ambition,” the younger Crouch mumbles.

“Have you all said your piece then?” James’ father finally speaks up. “Has everyone made a proper fool out of themselves in front of the new addition to our family? Rowena, apologise for your insult.”

Regulus straightens his back and looks at the woman expectantly. Remus knows he shouldn’t stare, but he loves it when the Tremblays are put into their place.

Lady Rowena glares at Regulus. “I apologise should you have misunderstood my comment, my Lady.”

“Rowena,” James says, “I swear if you don’t apologise properly-“

“Oh, no, it is quite all right, James. It must be truly awful to be awakened so violently from the delusion of ever having a chance to be in my place. It must have been quite a shock. But do not worry, Lady Rowena, even women like you will find a husband sooner or later. Sure, not out of love or for your looks, evidently, but some man will be desperate enough, I imagine. I shall pray for you when I visit my French country house with my husband.”

“Hear, hear,” Crouch’s son exclaims with his glass raised.

Lady Rowena turns white as a sheet and violently stabs the turkey on her plate with her fork. James leans over to Regulus to whisper something in his ear that makes him smile and wink at him.

***

After dinner, the party slowly migrated into the drawing room. Lupin called the servants to clear the tables and followed them into the drawing room with the Footmen to wait on the guests. Regulus excuses himself and goes to bed rather quickly. Lady Rowena throws herself at James the moment he leaves the room. Sirius finally sees himself released from the task of holding his mother at bay and instead gets into a quarrel with the Baron’s son.

Sirius waits until everyone else has gone upstairs under the pretence of finishing his drink.

“Will you be needing anything else tonight, my Lord?” Remus asks.

Sirius smiles and holds out his hand. “Come here, silly man.”

Remus opens the door to peer into the halls. When he is sure they are alone, he joins Sirius on the sofa.

“You must be so tired, standing around all evening on high alert. Have I ever told you how charming you look in your livery?”

“Many times.” Sirius grins and kisses his cheek. “Are you all right, Sirius?”

“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“It can’t be easy seeing your brother so sad.”

Sirius stops kissing him. He takes Remus’ hands in his. “It’s harder for him than for me, I’m sure. Actually, right now, he is just how I remember him. He’s always been like this at home. It was quite a shock when I came here, and he was smiling and joking. He’s so comfortable with James. I didn’t believe that would happen, to be honest. Even under these circumstances, he looks better at once when James can distract him.”

“Well, you know James. He has that effect on people.”

“Yes, he does. I thought if there were an exception, it would be Regulus.”

“I dare say the exception is The Honourable Bartemius Crouch.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “I swear he is getting more irritating every time I see him. Though I quite enjoyed when he put Lady Rowena in her place today.”

“Ugh, I’ve been waiting for that for years. Your brother was amazing at handling her. I had to call on myself not to cheer out loud with Mr Crouch.”

Sirius laughs. “Me too. And James, especially. Regulus was so worried our mother would embarrass us too much. I’m glad he saw that marrying people with uncivilised family members runs in James’ blood.”

“Your mother is still an awful woman.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Let us not talk about her. …She had many awful things to say about you.”

“Did she?”

“Yes, she said your scars were displeasing to look at.”

“Many people say that.”

“They are all mad.” Sirius leans over and kisses along the scar that stretches across his face. “You are the most attractive man I know. And you have more character than all of them together. I’d rather have your company than theirs.”

“I know you would.” Remus smiles and leans in to kiss him. The taste of overpriced alcohol still lingers on his lips, making him taste rich and rare.

He carefully cups Sirius’ face and pushes one hand into his long, wavy hair. He keeps it pulled together with a neat bow for formal gatherings like this one. Remus hates it. He draws on the fabric and releases the black waves. Sirius giggles against his lips. He wraps his arms around him and kisses him sweetly.

Sirius parts his lips and slides their tongues together. Remus buries his fingers in his hair and tugs him closer. He can never get enough of this man. Sirius lets his hands wander down his body, over the livery to his legs. He digs the tips of his fingers into Remus’ thigh. Remus scoots closer to him. His trousers feel instantly tighter the further up Sirius’ hand goes. It wanders up to his crotch until he presses his palm against him through the layers of clothing.

He pulls back, panting lightly. “Should- should we go upstairs?”

Sirius smirks, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “Whatever for, Mr Lupin?”

Remus rolls his eyes and demonstratively slaps his bottom. Sirius giggles and rubs his hand over Remus’ crotch. “Naughty.”

“Let’s go upstairs.”

“No,” he says, the twinkle getting stronger, “Let’s stay right here. Everyone else has gone to bed.”

Remus looks around the drawing room. He fantasised about taking Sirius in every single room of this house, of course. He never dared to dream he’d actually do it one day. He thought he would have more respect for Lord James to do this.

Sirius kisses the end of the scar on his cheek and fingers the button of his trousers. His stiff cock calls on him to stay right here and not argue with this gorgeous person  – what is disrespect to the Potter family if Sirius has a wish?

Only a madman would argue with him about this.

Sirius leaves tentative kisses along the scars again while stroking Remus’ hardening cock.

“Whatever you want,” Remus whispers. Sirius giggles against his forehead. He kisses him fiercely while tugging his trousers and drawers down. Remus tries to get his hands on Sirius’ dinner jacket buttons, but the man won’t let him.

“No, no, no,” he mumbles, “Just relax.” He smiles, presses another sensual kiss to his lips and slowly slips to his knees between Remus’ legs.

“Oh, my god,” Remus whispers and watches how Sirius slowly strokes his cock. He looks up at him and parts his lips. A string of saliva drops from his hot mouth on the head of his cock. Remus swallows heavily at the sight.

Sirius sticks out his tongue. He keeps eye contact with Remus as he slowly licks from the base to the head and pushes the tip of his tongue against the piece of skin connecting the head and the shaft. Pleasure thrashes through his body. The image paired with the sensation is overwhelming in its intensity. Remus slaps his hand on his mouth to not moan out loud.

Sirius slides his cock into his mouth. He tightens his lips around it and sucks lightly.

“Fuck, oh my – fuck, Sirius,” Remus gasps. He pushes his fingers into his back hair. Sirius pulls at the white bow tie around his neck, leaving it hanging open around his shoulders.

Sirius moves his head down, taking Remus inch for inch. He is agonisingly slow in the process, blurring the distinction between pleasure and torture. Maybe there has never been any distinction. Remus certainly cannot remember right now.

Sirius moves his head up and down, using his hand to pump him. He spreads his spit over his cock and sucks him down his throat. He comes up to breathe and tongues the slit, looking up at Remus again. Black pupil almost wholly replaces the grey of his eyes. He takes him back in, sucking harshly and moving his head faster. Remus moans lowly.

Sirius’ mouth is tight and wet, made to be fucked by Remus’s cock if he so wished. He sucks him eagerly with one hand pushed down his own trousers.

Remus grabs his hair tightly, gasping praises and Sirius’ name. He pushes his head down on his cock and thrusts up into his mouth. Sirius moans around him, sending tiny vibrations through Remus’ entire body.

Remus takes that as enticement and thrusts again. He fucks Sirius’ mouth in slow, deep strokes. Sirius moans deeply every time. He lets go of him and fists himself after ripping open his trousers.

Waves of pleasure are rolling through Remus’ body with every thrust. His lover’s moans are amplified in his ears. The sensation of his cock engulfed in his hot, wet mouth, Sirius’ perfectly soft lips tight around him, is enough to make Remus forget where they are.

He forces his eyes open to watch his cock slide in and out of Sirius. The man has his eyes half closed, still looking up at him. His eyes are watering. His cheeks are as red as the hard cock he strokes in rhythm with Remus’ thrusts.

The sight is pure sex. It might be one of the hottest things he has ever laid eyes on.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” Remus mutters. “You’re making me come, oh my god, if you could see yourself.”

Sirius moans deeply in response. Remus can feel it against his cock, tipping him over the edge. He fists Sirius’ hair and holds him in place. He pulls himself out of his lover and shoots his load over his pretty face, spreading it on him like varnish on a masterpiece – that is what Sirius Black is, after all.

He breathes heavily, looking at the mess he created.

Sirius looks back at him with a dazed smile. His lips are red and swollen. A few tears left traces on his face. His cheeks and neck are flushed deeply. He is still on his knees. He leans back until he lies on the carpet. His messy, tangled hair is spread out around him. Cum drips from his face. His hand is still around his cock, tugging quickly. With his other hand, he reaches up to his face, dips his finger into Remus’ cum and licks it from his fingertip.

“Oh my god,” Remus exhales. This man is impossible. And he gets to see him like this. He turned him into this. – and Sirius thoroughly enjoyed it.

Sirius looks up at him, lips parted, stroking himself. He sucks more cum from his fingers. The sight could make him hard again.

“You look so fucking beautiful right now,” Remus whispers. Sirius moans weakly in response.

“I hope you will only show yourself like this to me. This is too precious for anyone else. This sight should be illegal. You would be enough to fill our prisons with wishful sodomites.”

Sirius presses his eyes shut, breathing quickly. He bucks his hips up and comes over his dinner jacket and dressing shirt – not that he would care.

His body goes lax again, and he collapses on the carpet. Remus takes a folded blanket and joins him. The carpet is most likely worth more than Remus’ yearly income. It doesn’t matter. They lie on it, half-naked, covered in semen, beside the fire, and Remus doesn’t want any of this to end, ever.

***

Chapter Text

“Why didn’t you tell me, Harry, that the only thing worth loving is an actress?” The Picture of Dorian Gray 95

The following two days pass without too much trouble. Today, Regulus decided to escape the people inside for a while and go for a walk in the gardens. There was a bit of snowfall during the night, but the gardeners cleaned up the paths around the land.

“My Lady,” someone calls out to him a few minutes into his walk. Regulus presses his lips together and stops. He wants just one hour away from these people who keep calling him Lady and complimenting his dresses—one bloody hour.

It is the Baron’s son who reaches him. He is a handsome young man about Regulus’ age.

“Can I help you, Mr Crouch?”

“I was wondering whether you fancy some company.”

Regulus looks back to the house behind them. “Well, you’ve come all this way, so, sure, do accompany me.”

Barty smiles and offers his arm to him to make matters worse. Regulus accepts.

“I hope you didn’t take Lady Rowena’s words too much to heart the other day.”

“I didn’t.”

“You vanished so quickly after dinner that I feared she got under your skin.”

“By no means. I was simply feeling tired. I appreciate your concern.”

Crouch smiles. “From what I have seen from your mother the past days, I assume you are used to certain comments. That is good. You need a thick skin if you deal with people like that all the time. I remember we had a proper dance two years ago, and James invited some girl from town. I think he fancies himself the prince in Cinderella. Lady Rowena ripped that girl to shreds. She started at her hair and worked her way down over her face, dress, and shoes. She can be lucky that she didn’t get to see her stockings.”

“You mean Lily Evans?”

“I don’t remember her name. James was mad for her. Said, he could never love another as much as her. He wanted to marry her, the daughter of a gallery owner from the town. Can you imagine?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I apologise. I shouldn’t have spoken like this about your husband's former courtships. I hope I didn’t shock you with my account of the other woman.”

Regulus smiles to himself. “I am sorry to disappoint, but you won’t be able to infuriate me with this sort of thing.”

“Who says I wish to infuriate you, my Lady? I wouldn’t dare.”

“Maybe. But you want to get James into trouble.”

Crouch licks his lip and then smirks at him. “Forgive a man for wanting a little fun.”

“You missed the fun, unfortunately. I have met Lily Evans. She made a proper scene in my sitting room when she learned about the marriage. I hope that satisfies your thrill-chasing for now.”

“Absolutely not. You must tell me every bit of it.”

“I shall not. I suppose you will have to get your information the old-fashioned way: the town’s gossip.”

“You are breaking my heart.”

Regulus shakes his head. He doesn’t dislike Mr Crouch.

“Tell me: What is the connection between the Crouch and Potter families?”

“Nothing dramatic, old friendships. You see, my great-grandfather was the best friend of James’ great-grandfather. He lived here at Lioncrest, and they did everything together. Then, of course, their children grew up here together and became best friends. My grandfather moved out of the house upon his marriage, while my great-grandfather stayed here until his death. He just wouldn’t leave the side of the Earl.” He rolls his eyes dramatically. “Be that as it may, my grandfather stayed lifelong friends with the deceased Earl, and my father is a friend of the current Earl. We are considered honorary family, I suppose.”

“Sounds like the great-grandfathers were… close. You and James don’t seem inclined to continue the tradition.”

“Don’t take it personally, but I never liked your husband. He thinks he is a mighty good person and ever so funny.”

“You disagree?”

“I think he is one of the least funny people I’ve ever met. When we were children, and our parents forced us to play together, he always played pranks on me. When I played a prank on him, he sent his Nanny and father after me.”

“My brother was a prankster, too. They never grow out of it. What was your prank on him?”

The man chuckles and shrugs. “Faked my own death.”

“What?”

“He always wanted to do stupid things like jumping off and into things. I never wanted to join him, and he called me names for it. So, one day, I told him I’d do it. I prepared red paint, threw myself off the garden shed, and ensured the paint spilt out all around me like blood. He was so frightened that he cried and screamed and apologised. It was hilarious.”

Regulus can’t help himself but laugh at the scene in his head. It was just the kind of prank he would have played on his brother, too. “You are cruel, Sir.”

“Me? Your words to Lady Rowena at Christmas were cruel. You and I are cut from the same cloth; I know it.”

He smirks a little. “When I was eleven, my brother went through a phase where he always tried to frighten me. He’d hide in dark corners and then jump out screaming at me. I turned half-mad because of him. So, I scared the living daylights out of him for one whole week. I went to his room to reorganise his things at night. I placed music boxes underneath his bed. I used mirrors to project scary pictures on his walls. And then, on the seventh day, I snuck into his room in my mother’s nightgown and played to be a ghost that came to haunt him and kill him because he kept sneaking wine out of the cellar.”

“You rascal.” Mr Crouch shakes his head fondly. “How does a woman of your calibre end up with that idiot?”

“Calibre?”

“You are intelligent, funny, confident… and utterly beautiful. How can a fool like James, who usually loves common red-cheeked painters, be able to win your heart?”

Regulus looks at him and decides to take a step away from him. “I do not appreciate insult to my husband, Mr Crouch. He is the very best man I know.”

“Do you know many men?”

“How many men does one need to know to recognise a good one?” Regulus decides to start the journey back to the house.

Crouch catches up quickly. “At least four, I’d say.”

“Four? Whatever for?”

“One father. One brother. One man to love, and one to marry.”

“Can’t the man one marries also be the man one loves?”

“Ah, I don’t recommend it. Do you love him?”

“You are quite bold, Mr Crouch. Is that a question one typically asks a lady one has just met?”

“It is a question one may ask a lady one finds in the wrong arms. Especially if one is a bold man.”

“Who are you to decide whose arms are the wrong ones?”

“As I said, I believe we are cut from the same cloth. I could never be happy with a man as soft and honourable as Lord James.”

“Oh, Mr Crouch, the soft and honourable ones are the only ones worth loving, I’m afraid.”

“What a painful thing that is to hear, my Lady.”

“Can it be too painful from a stranger?”

“Only from a stranger that one doesn’t want to be a stranger.”

Regulus stops and waits for the man to look at him. “You are quite charming, Mr Crouch. But as much as I dislike insult to my husband, I don’t appreciate insinuations about my character either. If you think I will be unfaithful to him for even one moment of my life, you are gravely mistaken.”

Mr Crouch sighs, then smiles. “Of course. You are a good woman.”

“I don’t think so. And yet, you have no right to talk like this about me.” Regulus lets him stand where he is to go back into the house. A Footman opens the door, and surprisingly, James is waiting for him just past it.

“Regulus,” he says with a tight smile and looks behind him into the garden. “Did you have a nice walk?”

“Yes. Though it was more crowded than I liked.”

James hums and squints at Crouch outside.

***

At the dressing gong, Regulus finally takes a deep breath for the first time in hours. Lady Rowena has been glaring daggers at him all day as if Regulus’ family hadn’t practically invented the expression.

An Englishwoman trying to impress the French with her little angry face – it’s nothing but laughable.

Pandora helps him into his evening dress. “Shall we use one of the more precious necklaces tonight? Something to get under Lady Rowena’s skin?”

“I think the dress is quite enough for that purpose. Too much jewellery, and I look like a try-hard. How are you getting on with the guests’ servants?”

“Mr Lupin does his best in handling them. Mrs McGonagall is quite good at scaring them, I assure you. The Lady Eugenia’s Lady’s Maid is a cynic so grand that Mr Lupin looks like the most life-loving man on earth next to her.”

“What a horrifying thought, truly.”

“May I say I’m proud of you, my Lord?”

Regulus looks at her through the mirror. “Proud? What for?”

“You spent the entire day and the last with the guests and did not go up to your rooms. You are free to do so, of course. I would never comment not in favour of it. But that you stay in their presence gives credit to your strength.”

“Don’t give me too much credit. It isn’t strength so much as pettiness. I don’t want Lady Rowena to think she has a chance. Whenever I leave the room, I return to her badmouthing me to my husband. Besides, I do delight in annoying my brother and James.”

Pandora smiles at him and puts a last pin into his hair.

“I think you are ready for dinner. Are you pleased with it, my Lord?”

Regulus looks at himself in the mirror. “As pleased as I can be.”

“It may not mean much to you, but you look a hundred times better than Lady Rowena in women’s and men’s clothes.”

Regulus nods, squinting at himself.

“And Lord James would never look at her as he looks at you.”

“James doesn’t even like her, so what is that supposed to mean?”

“That he looks at you very fondly,” she says simply, putting away the rest of his jewellery and day-dress.

A knock comes from the door.

“You are imagining things again, Pandora,” Regulus says to her while she goes to open the door.

“Is Lord Regulus dressed?” James asks from the door.

“Yes, my Lord.”

Regulus stands up from the vanity.

“I’m coming down. You don’t need to chase me through the whole house.”

“I actually wanted to have a word before we go to dinner.”

Regulus frowns. He nods towards Pandora to let James in and leave them alone.

“What is it?”

“I just… I saw you walking with Barty today.”

“Barty. Is that what you call him?”

“We were childhood friends.”

“He doesn’t think so.”

“Me neither, to be fair. …So, what were you talking about?”

Regulus shrugs. “This and that. He told me about your childhood together.”

“Did he tell you about the time he made me believe he was dead? Did he tell you what a sick boy he is?”

“Yes. I found it funny. He also told me how awful you’ve been as a boy.”

James crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Regulus, I want you to keep away from him.”

“Why?”

“He’s…” he looks around as if he could find the correct adjectives written on Regulus’ walls, “a bad character. I don’t like him. He has no sense for humour… or decency.”

“Doesn’t he? I found him quite entertaining the last few days.”

James looks at him with a tight expression. He looks rather cute when he is pouty like that.

“He always does this. Whenever we were at a party together, as soon as I danced with a girl, he must come to snatch her up. I dare say he only ever showed interest in Cousin Rowena because she fancied me first.”

“I see. You are under the impression that he only accompanied me on my walk to drive you up the walls.”

“No, of course not! He surely has other reasons to accompany you. You are everything any man could dream of.”

“Sure. Aside from the part where I’m a man and not a little girl, you two can fight over. You do remember that part, no?”

James looks at him with an expression Regulus cannot define. “Yes, of course. I won’t forget it. But he doesn’t know it, so he will try-“

“Do I strike you as a person that is swept away and out of his clothes by a thrill-chaser like Crouch?”

James licks his lip and looks down. “I do not know what kind of man could sweep you off your feet. Maybe that is the problem. …I’m sorry. It’s not that I think ill of you. I just think very ill of him.”

Regulus smiles and steps closer to him. “I must say, it is an interesting colour on you.”

“What?” he looks confused at the suit he is wearing. Regulus puts his fingers under his chin to make him look up again.

“Jealousy.” He smiles and walks past James to leave the bedroom. “Oh, before I forget it. You should know, on our walk, Mr Crouch tried his hardest to start a love affair with me. It was presumably just to rile you up, but he paid me the loveliest compliments and explained in great detail how I could never be happy with you.”

“What?” James exclaims and follows him. “That bastard. I’ll- oh, just you wait until he dares to speak to you in my presence again!”

Regulus grins to himself. Jealousy looks very good on James.

Regulus and James join the rest in the drawing room.

Sirius stands up. “Is everyone present then?”

The Baroness Crouch looks around. “Has anyone seen Barty?”

Regulus leans to James. “Did you kill the man telepathically on the way down?”

“I wouldn’t dare to spoil your dinner, darling.” James takes his hand and leads him over to Sirius. “Sirius, you won’t believe what Barty-“

Regulus hits his arm. “Didn’t you just say you wouldn’t spoil my dinner?”

Lupin enters the room. “Dinner is ready, my Lady.”

Regulus turns to the Baroness. “Do you think your son will need much longer?”

“I’m sorry, my Lady. He should be down already.”

“It’s the boy’s own fault,” Baron Crouch says, “He either respects his hosts and is punctual for dinner, or he has to join us later.”

Regulus’ mother stands up. “If the whole world were to wait for Englishmen to respect other’s time, no one would get anything done anymore but only be sitting down for tea.”

“Lupin, please do send someone out to look for Mr Crouch. Should he not turn up within the next ten minutes, we will start without him.”

“Right away.”

***

Remus sends out the footmen, except for Gideon and Fabian, to search the common areas of the house. The young Baron’s son is always causing quite a bit of trouble.

Remus rushes out into the gardens and finally passes the coaches. He barely pays attention until he hears a rhythmic rattling from the main carriage. The thing is moving back and for like a damn ship at sea.

Remus huffs and marches up to the vehicle. He pulls the door open and, low and behold, finds the coachman Mr Rosier with his trousers pulled down behind the Baron’s son.

The two pull apart quickly.

“Mr Crouch, you are expected in the dining room.”

Crouch smirks and takes his time to adjust his clothes. “Don’t get so worked up, Scarface.”

“Mr Crouch. Now.”

“All right, all right.” He pulls Mr Rosier to him by his shirt and kisses him. “Sorry, but I can’t leave the lovely Viscountess wait any longer.”

The man jumps out of the carriage and makes his way back up to the manor.

Remus glares at Rosier.

“Oh, come on, Lupin,” he laughs and pulls a cigarette out of his uniform, “don’t act like you didn’t get your cock sucked by Lord Black in the drawing room last night.”

Remus doesn’t dignify his comment with a response. Rosier jumps out as well and lights the cigarette.

“Can you believe it? I give him the time of his life, and he is still going on about the precious Viscountess.”

“Mr Rosier, I do hope I don’t have to remind you that you are not to utter a word-“

“Yeah, yeah. I didn’t. I’m not mad. I like Lord Regulus. I wouldn’t tell his secrets. Still, I’d rather offer Crouch a ride than his Lordship. If you catch my meaning.”

Remus grimaces and throws the carriage door shut. “Do you have to be so crass?”

“Again: Blowjobs. Drawing Rooms. Had anyone else walked by that window the other night, the old Dowager would have had a heart attack at hearing the news.”

“And where did you come from last night when you passed the windows?”

Rosier smirks and wiggles his eyebrows at him. “I think we both know that noblemen who hate their parents are quite insatiable at times. That is any time. Now, better hurry up. The dinner will fall apart without you. And make sure no one is looking at Mr Crouch’s bottom. There may be some stains.”

When Remus returns to the dining room, everything seems calm.

Seems being the correct term. The Baron is obviously annoyed with his son.
Madame Black has found a new reason to complain and somehow managed to blame Regulus for the whole ordeal.
Lady Rowena is glaring at Regulus.
James is glaring at Crouch Junior.
Sirius is giving Remus that look of his that says, “You look so hot in your livery I want to take you on the table right here”, which doesn’t help with Remus’ concentration whatsoever.
The young Crouch looks and smiles at Regulus as if he didn’t just take coachman-cock up his arse. James glares even more and interferes whenever the young man tries to say something to Regulus.
The only consolation is that Regulus seems to enjoy himself at dinner tonight.

After everyone has gone upstairs, Remus sneaks into Sirius’ bedroom.

He barely has the energy for it anymore at the end of the day. He should be asleep at this hour, but by God, he cannot care about the next day’s work if Sirius is at the house. When Sirius is gone again, and Remus is left with nothing but memories, he will thank himself for nights spent with more pleasurable things than sleep, like hearing Sirius moan his name in ecstasy.

“You will never believe where I found Crouch earlier,” Remus mumbles. He has his head tipped back into Sirius’ pillow. They pulled the sheets over their naked bodies to trap the warmth. Sirius is kissing the scars on his body.

“Stealing the silver?”

“Fucking the coachman.”

Sirius looks up with wide eyes. “Not really.”

“Yes, really. In the carriage.”

Sirius laughs out loud and then slaps his hand before his mouth. “Oh my, I should have known he was one of us. His little rivalry with James has always been so passionate.”

“I doubt he is one of us, as you put it. I think he is more of a connoisseur of everything. That man doesn’t believe in moderation. I bet he simply aims to drag to bed whomever he finds pretty enough in the moment.”

“And that is the coachman?”

“Apparently.”

Sirius looks up. “Do you think he’s handsome?”

“Reasonably handsome, I’d say. His face isn’t going to make anyone faint, but he’s good-looking.”

Sirius frowns. “Do you fancy him?”

Remus can’t help but laugh at the thought. “Yes, I get to be with the brightest, most handsome man known across the continent and beyond, and when you’re not here, I get it on with the coachman.”

“Don’t laugh at me. You say I can’t bed other men. I promise it gladly. But you have to promise the same.”

Remus wouldn’t dream of taking a lover besides Sirius. He has too much work.

After Reading, he promised never to take a lover again. What would be the point? More hurt? Another threat? Prison and trials?

Never again.

But then Sirius was so beautiful and so charming. Sirius made him feel alive again.

Only once more, Remus thought then. Only him. Only as long as he wants me.

Remus runs his fingers through Sirius’ long, black hair. What are they putting in the water in France? Honestly, Sirius and Regulus are both magnificent creatures. The stark contrast of fair skin, bright grey eyes, and dark wavy hair is mesmerising. There is no reason to believe it doesn’t hold James and the Honourable Barty Crouch in a chokehold, too. Not that Regulus would be likely to care either way.

“I promise, Seren. There won’t ever be another.”

With his eyes closed, Remus feels Sirius move up so they are face to face. “What did you call me? Seren?”

“It’s Welsh for ‘star’. You’re named after one.”

Sirius kisses his face. “You are so lovely. If you are to have a sweet name for me, I must have one for you, too.”

“You already have. You call me silly man.”

Sirius giggles and kisses the tip of his nose. “Silly man, that is not a proper sweet name. That is simply an accurate description.”

“You think me silly? Truly?”

“Obviously. The way you call me Lord even when we’re alone is silly.”

“Ah, I’m just indulging my personal pleasures when I do that. What else makes me silly?”

“The first few times you let me kiss you, you kept saying ‘Just one, my Lord’ – and then you kissed me again. And when I wanted you to take your shirt off, you refused because you thought the scars would be off-putting, which is the silliest thing of all. Especially considering I find the scars on your face anything but off-putting.”

“That doesn’t make me silly. That makes you silly.”

“It makes me a man of taste and intelligence.”

“And ever so humble, my Star.”

“Oh, I have it! If I’m your star, you shall be my moon.”

Remus opens his eyes to him. “Your moon?”

“Yes. My bright light in the sky.”

Remus smiles gently at him. “That sounds lovely.”

Sirius grins and kisses him on the lips. Remus can’t say which of them is sillier.

Finally, Remus forces himself to pull back from Sirius. “I’m afraid I have to go.”

“No, please stay. You can get up in the morning before the rest of them and sneak back downstairs.”

“That is all in great fun when it’s just James’ parents and us, but I’d rather not risk being seen in the morning with all these people in the house.”

Remus gently pushes him off. Sirius whines unhappily. “I can’t wait for this holiday season to be over.”

“Cheer up. It’s only a few more days. Most of them will leave on the morning of the second of January. James’ parents and the Dowager will stay until the third. Then it is just James, Regulus, you and me.”

“How it’s supposed to be. Oh, but we are going to London only a few days later.”

“I suppose we’ll have to make the most of the time between.”

Sirius looks at him. His hair is spilt out on the pillow surrounding him like a black halo. Remus keeps his eyes on him while getting dressed, savouring every second he gets to see him like this.

“Can’t you come to London with us, Moon?”

“I shan’t. The servants and I will have much to do with everyone out of the house. Peter and Pandora will accompany you. You can take one of the footmen as Valet if needed.”

“Can’t you be my valet? I enjoy getting undressed by you so much.”

“I’m a butler, not a valet. That would be like putting a footman to the task of a hall boy.”

“I don’t even know what a hall boy does – but I know that I want you to come with us when we go to London. We’ll finally have a proper Londoner among us.”

“I’m Welsh. You do know that, right? I only lived in London for a few years. I’m sure you are surrounded by proper Londoners all the time over there.”

“Come with me.” Sirius rolls on his stomach and reaches his hand out to him. “Please, my darling Moon. Don’t let me be without you so soon again.”

Remus has long ago discovered that he is anything but immune to Sirius Black’s charms. He has told himself he would never go back to London. He fancies himself more firm on this than on the promise of never taking a lover again. But, as it turns out, the word please out of Sirius’ perfect mouth warrants the breakage of every promise known to man.

“It isn’t for me to decide. It’s Lord James’ decision.”

That puts an instant smile on Sirius’ face. He knows he can make James agree to just about anything if he likes.

“Stop celebrating your victory just yet. Give me a kiss.”

Sirius sits up and pulls him down to kiss him.

“Good night, Seren,” Remus whispers.

“Good night, Moony.”

Remus smiles at him and sneaks out of the room.

On evenings like these, he likes to walk the hallways once to ensure everyone is asleep and no one other than him is creeping about.

He finds one of the Weasley boys sleeping, sitting against the wall by Regulus’ door. Remus rushes over to wake him up. “What are you doing here? Go to bed at once.”

The boy scrambles up and runs his hand through his red hair. The gardener, Mr Weasley, is married to their former kitchen maid and now lives in the village. Their older sons are all working in service now. Charlie is a groomer, and William and Percival work as extra footmen when needed. The boy is likely Percival, but it is hard to tell in dim light.

“Sorry, Mr Lupin. Lord James said I am not to leave here all night.”

“What on earth for?”

Percival looks around and then whispers to him. “I am to ensure the Baron’s son doesn’t try to get into Lord Regulus’ rooms.”

“The Baron’s son? Really?”

The boy nods. Remus sighs and shakes his head. “Go to bed, boy. I will speak to Lord James in the morning. I assure you, the Honourable Bartemius Crouch will not find his way here. And if he does, I’m rather sure Lord Regulus can handle himself quite well.”

The boy nods again and then vanishes through a servant’s door.

Remus highly doubts that James must worry about Barty in any capacity. Yet, he decides to walk down the hallway where the Baron’s family has been assigned their rooms.

Just when he rounds the corner, Barty’s door opens, and a figure sneaks out. The man freezes when he sees Remus at the end of the hallway. Then, he straightens up and saunters towards him.

“Evening, Mr Lupin.” It is Rosier. “I see, we both got lucky tonight, didn’t we?”

“Mr Rosier, what are you doing up here?”

Rosier looks at him with raised eyebrows. He grins and points back to the door. “Do you wish for a demonstration? I’ve worn him out quite a bit, but I bet we could still get a good show on.”

“Stop talking. Get a move on. Now.”

“How can a man who just had Lord Black’s cock in his mouth still be so cranky?” Rosier chuckles and pushes past him to the servant’s door.

***

Chapter Text

“Priceless indeed to me, for it looks like you” Teleny 137

The days drag on. James usually enjoys the holiday season and being surrounded by family, friends, and the Crouches. But this year, every day seems twice as long. When Regulus stays upstairs in his rooms, James is rather carefree. But when he is downstairs, looking like he wishes to peel his skin off his bones, James can only worry. He tries to occupy his full attention so others don’t have the chance to talk to him, calling him my Lady and his birth name. James only calls him darling when they have company. By the end of the year, he is desperate for the guests to leave so he can have Regulus back.

To make matters worse, Barty Crouch has taken a liking to Regulus. James is rather sure that he only flirts with him to anger him. James knows he should be above the provocation. But he isn’t. There is no point in being the bigger man with evil, scheming Barty Crouch Jr. in the same house. Regulus seems to find him terribly amusing. Or maybe he is also trying to drive James up the walls.
It’s working.

Of course, Rowena is as annoying as ever. Regulus regularly puts her in her place, which is amazing to watch. James never liked Rowena. She aims to secure herself a title and a fortune, as she will be left with nothing of her own. James never even considered her.

She keeps up the angle of Regulus being some poor French peasant. Regulus once flings a French Franc coin at her in response, saying, “Since you appear to want to go into stand-up comedy, I thought this would be a great practice. If you learn to catch them, I bet there are quite a number of places in Paris that could put you to work.” – Sirius then proceeded to throw coins, aiming at her cleavage, until Euphemia reprimanded him.

Lord Henry is drinking while his mother is crying non-stop. The Longbottoms are terribly in love and keep looking at each other with ardent emotion, smiling and giggling when they catch each other staring. Lady Alice Longbottom is a lovely woman, but she only engages in trivial conversation, if any. Euphemia’s other cousin is rather dull, too. He doesn’t trouble them, but he is so boring that James almost wishes for Madame Black to speak up.

Regulus’ and Sirius’ mother is busy criticising anything she can find. How dare they give the servants off for Luncheon on Christmas Day? And how dare they allow the servants to stay among themselves instead of working when midnight approaches New Year's Eve? James is glad he got Regulus out of that woman’s clutches by marrying him.

Most of the guests leave on the second of January. Unfortunately, his parents stay a bit longer. He finds himself honestly relieved when they say their goodbyes at the end of the week after dinner.

“Be good to yourself, dear girl,” Euphemia says to Regulus as she hugs him. Regulus needs them to be gone. James can see it in his posture.

“And you,” she whispers as she hugs James, “be good to your wife. I am so happy for you both. She will need you now, dear. And in a few months, you’ll be a father. I’m so excited for you.”

James hugs her back. Right, he almost forgot about that lie. From all the lies they told over the last two weeks, that one might be the worst, in James’ opinion. Having children is an important topic in his family. Not just because they must have an heir and secure the bloodline but because they are just unlucky with it. The news of another miscarriage – as it is the only way to resolve Regulus’ lie- would break his mother’s heart. He just hopes that she didn’t tell his grandmother.

His mother pulls back from the hug and smiles happily at him. James wants to tell her. He wants to tell her there is no pregnancy and that it is all a misunderstanding. He’d rather have her angry than sad.

He doesn’t say anything. His parents and grandmother leave to be driven up to the station by Mr Rosier. Regulus says his goodnight and vanishes upstairs.

***

The following day, James takes a well-deserved bath before going down for breakfast. Lupin stands by the little buffet prepared for them. He serves his tea as soon as he enters.

Sirius is already sitting and eating at the table. “Finally, someone joins me down here. Your parents are gone, and you become a lazy child at once.”

“Good morning to you, too, Sirius. Isn’t Lupin good enough company?”

“Exquisite company. But he refuses to sit down with me and eat.”

“It is improper, Lord Black. Also, I had breakfast downstairs with the rest of the servants.”

“Still.”

“Still, I’m working.”

“You’re boring.”

James sits down with his breakfast. He knows the men don’t like each other, and he shouldn’t have brought it up. He doesn’t want to deal with their bickering so early. “Stop quarrelling, you two. Where’s the post?”

“Fabian is ironing the newspaper at the moment. He will immediately bring it up with the rest of the post.” Lupin says.

“I can’t be so late then,” James says pointedly to Sirius.

“No, the paper is simply also late. You know the poor boy who has to come up here always takes longer when it’s cold.”

James rolls his eyes and takes his tea.

The door to the dining room opens, and Regulus steps in. He wears his hair in loose, almost wild curls. He wears a green waistcoat, a dark jacket, and nicely tailored trousers.

James is still holding the cup in the middle of the air, just staring at Regulus. He looks so ridiculously handsome. He doesn’t frown or look mildly disgusted as he did whenever James got to see him the last few days.

“There you are,” James says, smiling. “I’ve missed you.”

Regulus looks up at him. He looks confused for a moment, then settles into a pleasant smile.

Sirius, munching on a piece of toast, looks from James to Regulus with a frown. Regulus walks past him, saying, “You’re in my chair, Sirius,” before helping himself to his breakfast.

“I’m always sitting here.”

“You’re not. At least not since I live here. Move.”

“You can sit next to me.”

“Sirius, just move,” James says. Regulus always sits next to him on his left for breakfast. He didn’t eat with them in the morning while they had guests in the house, but now Regulus should retake his place.

Sirius makes a big show out of getting up and switching seats, rolling his eyes, huffing, puffing, and moaning in agony. Regulus ignores him and sits down next to James.

“You look very handsome this morning.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“Very much. Your parents are pleasant people, but I hope I won’t have to see them for a while.”

“You won’t. I promise.”

Fabian comes in with the post and the paper. “Apologies for the delay, my Lord.”

“It’s all right.”

James sorts through the mail first. There isn’t much of interest. He finally turns to the paper. More by accident than anything else, he sees his own name in the gossip column.

“Huh, they write about our Christmas celebration.”

Regulus frowns. “What? Why?”

“Do you want to read it?”

“Yes,” Regulus leans over and snatches the column from his hands.

“Don’t forget to eat your breakfast, though.”

Regulus absentmindedly keeps eating while reading with an increasingly irritated look on his face.

“One of the guests must have run their move to the press.”

James looks at him, concerned. “Nothing about your… situation, right?”

“No, nothing of this. Just calomnie. ‘The Countess of Gryffindor put her new daughter-in-law to the test by letting her host the Christmas celebration for the Potter Family. A test that she inevitably failed.’”

“You didn’t fail at anything. It was lovely and, beyond that, about the same as usual. Don’t take it to heart.” James smiles, which goes unnoticed by Regulus.

“ ‘While there are many stories and speculations about where Lord James picked up his new wife, many indicators point to an upbringing out of keeping with the class and wealth we are used from the honourable Potters. Reportedly, the Viscountess was the only woman not wearing a tiara at the Celebration. Instead, her dresses matched the table decorations, missing the mark entirely on style as well as originality.’ – Who is in charge of this newspaper, and can we introduce the guillotine to Lyopot?”

“We are not going to guillotine any journalists.”

“Poison, then. Also, this isn’t journalism. Someone ran their dirty little mouth to a talentless writer.”

“It’s also a bunch of lies,” Sirius says, “We are poor because you didn’t wear a tiara? I’ll buy you ten if you want.”

“No, the burden of jewellery buying should lie with the husband. I’ll buy you one.” James cuts in.

“Do I look like I care about tiaras?”

James shrugs. “A silver one would look great in your hair. That’s all I’m saying.”

Regulus scratches his eyebrow. “Do you really not see the problem with this?”

“It’s gossip, Frérot. Who cares?”

“I care. I care that they are insinuating that I – let’s see –  am a low-rated harlot that you got pregnant and then married to save face. This is where the theories divide the people, apparently: Did I purposefully kill the child after the wedding, or did I fake the pregnancy, to begin with?”

“You know it’s false.”

“I know that I’m pissed off. It’s an entire page about how I bring shame over your family. They question your father’s trustworthiness as Earl if he lets me into his family and house. Oh! And they think Sirius isn’t my brother but my pimp who brought me over from France and charges you by the day. ‘It would pull into question Lord James’s character as to why he rejected many wealthy and beautiful young women to search for his luck in French brothels. Even if the story of the new Viscountess is a different one – toward which there is no evidence – one must question why Lord James chooses a poor French woman over proper, wealthy, beautiful Ladies of English nobility who do not confuse their forks.’ – At no point did I confuse forks during our dinners!”

James snatches the paper out of Regulus’ hands.

“Hey, I’m reading that.”

“No, you’re not.” James rips the paper in half, then again and again until he is only left with scraps. “Lupin, burn these in a fireplace. And do inquire the name of the author for me.”

“Right away, my Lord.” Remus takes the scrapes of newspaper and leaves.

Regulus looks after him, biting his lip harshly.

“Hey, Regulus, just forget about it. It was probably Barty playing a stupid prank.”

“Barty?”

“Yes, he’d do such a thing, running to the press and feeding them lies. You did wonderfully all Christmas and were the most beautiful person present.”

Regulus shakes his head. “It surely wasn’t Barty, idiot. It was that stupid whore cousin with the big tits.”

James blinks at Regulus’ word choice. “Rowena, you mean?”

“Oh, so you looked at her tits?”

Sirius laughs into his coffee next to him, making it spill over the edge of the cup and onto his hand.

“I-“

“Do you want to see her naked after all? I bet she would gladly spread ‘erself naked on zee dining table wiz an apple in ‘er mouth.”

He always found Regulus somewhat scary. In this state, James has the overwhelming desire to remove all knives from the room.

He looks at Sirius. “What is happening?”

“That is your wife coming to the surface being jealous that you so much as looked at a woman.”

Regulus switched to quick, angry French at this point. “Oh, shut up, Sirius. If I were a woman and actually his wife, that little blond thing would have zero chance against me, and we both know it.”

Sirius holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“I tried my damn hardest so this wouldn’t happen. I prepared and planned this stay. I wore all the dresses, and the jewellery, and the hair. I went to stupid outings and English church and played nonsensical games so no ill word could be written about this family. I did it all to not embarrass James, and now it is still in the papers. And it doesn’t fucking matter that we know it’s false. The people don’t know that.”

“Regulus, it’s okay. The people won’t believe this. If they do, they will forget it quickly. What makes you so sure Rowena did this and not Barty?”

“Oh, please, you really are daft. Had this come from Barty, there would be more slender towards you and less towards me. This is Rowena’s work. She was all over you and hated me because she thought you had to choose her as your bride. Didn’t she do a similar thing to your precious Lily Evans once at a ball?”

James can’t remember Rowena ever saying something to Lily in his presence. There was a ball around two years ago to which James invited Lily. She left rather quickly without giving him an explanation.

“Okay, I shall write to Rowena then.”

“No, I will write to that little slut. I’ll write her a fucking novel about how I’m spending all your money, and you let me because I let you fuck me all over the house, and you love it. And I’ll write how she will die a fucking unloved spinster that can be glad if a man ever touches her long enough for her to birth a bastard child.”  He pushes himself away from the table and rushes out of the dining room.

Sirius looks after him. “I’ve never heard him use such words – in either language.” He chuckles, shakes his head, and fortunately switches back to England for James’s sake. “That reminds me, though, I wanted to ask you something about our London trip.”

“Are you seriously going to pretend that was normal?”

“Let him be. He’ll calm down. If I had worried every time he had a meltdown, I wouldn’t have done much else in our childhood. Just keep the garden sheers away from him. Back to London, let us take Lupin with us.”

“Lupin?” James only listens halfway, still staring at the door through which Regulus vanished.

“Yes. We should stay at Gryffindor House instead of the club anyway, so why not bring the butler, too?”

“Lupin hates London. He doesn’t want to go back. He likes spending the time here and getting things done.”

“Yes, but if I ask him and he says yes, can he-“

James stands up, “Whatever you like, Sirius. I’ll check on Regulus.”

He finds Regulus upstairs in his rooms. He has an extra office for his favourite books and his writing desk. He had a chaiselongue placed near a window with a small table next to it for tea. The paintings on the walls show the French countryside.

Regulus is furiously scribbling at his desk.

“Regulus,” James says softly.

“Hello, James. I’m considering adding a sonnet. What do you think about rhyming big tits and no wits? What rhymes with forever alone? To you, love will never be shown?”

“Reg, don’t be so dramatic. There is no need for a sonnet or a letter.”

“You want to let this insult go unanswered? Insult to your family and wife? Insult to me?”

“Unanswered? No. But leave it to me. Your anger is what she wants.” James goes over to him and takes the pen out of his hand. “Why are you working yourself up so much? Who cares what the gossip column says? And you’ll let my wife die soon anyway. Of all people, Lady Rowena is the last person you should let darken your mood.”

The tension eases out of Regulus’ shoulders. He deflates a bit and folds the paper up.

James puts a gentle hand against his back. “What is the matter, darling?”

Regulus hums. “You’re not calling me darling in private.”

“I might if it calms you.”

Regulus sighs deeply and looks up at him. “I just don’t want any ill to befall you or your family because of me. I told you, you were too good a man to be wasted on me. You are in trouble with Lily because of me, and I refuse to let it get any worse than that. The reward for all your kindness can’t be scandal and gossip.”

James leans against the desk. “I’m not ‘in trouble’ with Lily because of you. The truth is, I have tried to free my heart from her for a while. I couldn’t stay away from her, but I couldn’t force her to love me either. I left for France, and then all of a sudden, I had plans to marry you. I chose not to talk to her during it. I chose not to inform her of it, not to read or answer her letters. She won’t ever love me, not truly. Your existence in my life doesn’t change that.”

“Have you heard from her since that day she brought the painting?”

“No. Nor did I seek her out. I think this is what we both needed: a clean break. She’ll find love, and so will I. Besides, she is a rather modern young woman. She’d prefer being a painter over being a housewife, even with the title of Countess on the table.” He sighs and smiles at him. “As for scandals and gossip, I don’t know if you noticed, but my butler is a convicted sodomite with scars all over his face. My cousin is a drunk. Barty has brought his fair share of gossip over the house whenever he stays because he loves angering his father. And don’t get me started on your brother and me and our tomfoolery. For heaven’s sake, I was hell-bent on marrying a painter and brought her to a ball my parents held for a duke and his family. You think anyone will care that you didn’t wear a tiara at Christmas Dinner?”

“It’s less the tiara I’m worried about, James. The paper and Rowena aren’t the only ones who think you married me because of pregnancy and the like. Your mother had the same thought. Any sensible person would.”

“Only because they don’t have the full story. We’ve known each other for years. You are my best friend’s sibling. We’ve met many times at your parent’s home.”

“Thrice.”

“That’s many times for English noble marriages. There are two simple things to be done about this, Regulus. Mr Rosier is to be sent to town and spread a jolly good story about how we fell in love. We’ll let Peter and Pandora spread the same story in London, though they won’t be as talented as Rosier. We’ll say, it happened when I visited Sirius in Aquitaine. You looked so exceptionally beautiful at a party he held that I fell in love immediately and wanted nothing more in the world but to kiss you. You refused to grant me even that before I agreed to marry you. I rushed the marriage because I was so in love with you that I refused to wait longer than absolutely necessary. And you loved me just the same, felt the same, wanted it the same.”

Regulus lowers his eyes. “How compelling. And I fancied me the writer out of the two of us.”

James shrugs. “I am a romantic.”

“That you are. One day, you’ll have a spouse worthy of it.”

“I’m not in a rush to find another worthy spouse, Regulus. Forget the paper and Lady Rowena. You will come to London with us, and we shall find the finest tailor, and I buy you a new fancy suit. I’ll tell Pandora to bring your measurements from the tailor down in the Pot.”

“You think you can pacify me with some new clothes? Fling some money at me, and I shall be happy and cease planning assassinations?”

James reaches for Regulus’ hand with a grin. “Would it work, my darling one?”

Regulus bites his lip and looks away. “I shall be ashamed to admit it, but yes.”

James brings Regulus’ hand to his lips and kisses his fingers, winking at him.

“Oh, stop you.” Regulus rolls his eyes and pulls his hand back. “If Sirius knew how you’re touching me sometimes, he’d be furious.”

“What are you talking about? We’re married, my dear. I’m allowed to kiss my spouse’s hands and touch his back, am I?”

“Keep telling yourself that. But stop flirting with me for laughs.” Regulus stands up and throws the half-written letters away.

James doesn’t do it for laughs. He isn’t sure why he does it at all. It just comes naturally to him. He wishes to be cheeky with Regulus, so he is. He wishes to give him presents and kiss his hands, so he does. It is not for laughs. But seeing the slightly bashful expression on Regulus’ face, followed by that eyeroll and that tone, is a small pleasure James doesn’t care to forbid himself.

***

Sirius stands in front of Regulus’ wardrobe, looking through the clothes with a frown.

“Some might consider it improper for you to sort through my clothes, you know?” Regulus asks from the bed.

“Are you a woman now, after all?”

“Is it only improper then?”

“Yes.”

“People have strange rules about gender.”

“Says the right one,” Sirius chuckles. “You should take this one with you to London. Do you want to take a dress?”

“Sirius, stop trying to pack my clothes. Pandora will do that.”

“She’s a maid, not a valet. And she’s never been to London. She doesn’t know what is fashionable over there.”

“I’m going to take a leap of faith and assume it’s waistcoats, jackets, black tie, white tie, and some fashionable cravats.”

“Oh, god forbid, I hope we don’t have to go white tie. Do you think you should take a dress to be safe?”

“Why? Are we meeting someone I will have to meet again? I’ve been wearing dresses for weeks. They make my skin feel icky.”

Sirius takes a dress out of the wardrobe. “I always thought they looked so pretty. Do you think I’d fit in this?”

“No. They are meant to be worn over a corset, first of all. And second, you’re significantly broader than I am. Unfortunately.”

Sirius shrugs and comes back to the bed. He sits down next to Regulus. “Did you calm down from earlier?”

Regulus shrugs. He leans back until he hits the mattress.

“Look, James really doesn’t care what they say about him in the gossip column.”

“I just… I don’t want him to suffer just because he showed me kindness.”

“Suffer?” Sirius lies down next to him. Their legs dangle off the bed. “Because of stupid speculations? It takes a great deal more to hurt James Potter.”

Regulus hums. Sirius smirks at him. “Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“James.”

Regulus frowns and looks up at the canopy of his bed. “Of course, I like him. He’s nice and doesn’t bother me too much.”

Sirius does his stupid little giggle that Regulus finds jarringly annoying. “James doesn’t bother you? You must be stupidly in love with him.”

“What are you on about?”

“James is annoying to about everybody. I thought the biggest problem with my plan would be that he is too much for you – too loud, too energetic, too open.”

“He’s only like that when you’re here. You have a bad influence on him.”

“I have the best influence on him.”

Regulus looks at him solely for him to see how he rolls his eyes.

“We’ll have a great time together in London, Regulus. Now, help me get into this dress.” Sirius sits up again.

“Is that absolutely necessary?”

“Yes. If you are allowed to flip gender, I’m at least allowed to dance around with it a bit for lunch. You don’t mind if I borrow a corset, right?”

“Not if you burn it afterwards.”

“Marvelous!” He jumps up from the bed and heads back to the wardrobe.

“But choose one of the uglier dresses. I just had this one made for New Year's.”

“Preserve the memories?”

Only one memory. James refrained from complimenting his appearance when he had to wear his dresses, but with this one in particular, James looked at him with big, gleaming eyes and an expression of exquisite pleasure on his face. As much as Regulus would prefer it if he looked at him like that any other day, he decided to wear that dress again, should he have to wear one.

Sirius stumbles back towards the bed in only his drawers and undershirt. He has pushed his body into an old corset and looks at himself in the mirror.

“Help me lace this up, will you?”

“What makes you think I know how?”

“You’ve been wearing corsets for 21 years and don’t know how to lace them?”

“I didn’t wear them as a child. You’re making me sound old. Also, I never tied them myself.”

“Just try, will you?”

Regulus sighs dramatically and pushes himself off the bed to pull on the laces on the corset. “What are you trying to achieve here, Sirius?” He asks, looking at his brother through the mirror.

“Looking pretty,” he says as if it was obvious. “Are you afraid I outshine you?”

Regulus gives him a long look through the mirror.

“All the praise from James and Barty is getting to your head, Regulus. Besides, praise from Barty means nothing. He just wants to annoy James.”

Regulus pulls harshly on the laces. “Breathe in, suck your stomach in, work with me here. This thing is about ten numbers too small for you.”

Sirius does as told, and Regulus ties the laces. “There you go. You look ridiculous. …What do you think to know about Mr Crouch?”

“James has been lamenting about his behaviour during his entire stay. You should stay away from that man. It’s always been like this between them. Whenever James had a girl, Barty needed to take her away.” Sirius picks up the dress he chose for himself. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I understand that you are a man. But Barty only sees you as a woman and subsequently needs to conquer you.”

“Conquer? What am I? The Normandy?” He flings himself back on his bed.

Sirius looks at the dress he has chosen like a puzzle. “The less you think about Barty Crouch, the better.”

“Who says I’m thinking about him at all? You brought him up. I only bring him up to annoy James, if ever. He gets all pouty about him.” Regulus smiles to himself.

“Is this thing supposed to make sense?”

“It’s three different parts you need to put on the skirt first, then the other skirt, then the top. I think the fashion of the 50s would have suited you better.”

“You say we were born forty years too late?”

“More like a hundred years too early.”

Sirius successfully identifies the different parts of the dress. “You think the world will be better for people like us in a hundred years?”

“I’m not known for my optimism, but I’d hate to see the world worse for us. I, however, do not have hope for women’s fashion.”

Sirius grins as he pulls the skirt up around his waist and ties it. “You’ll love London, Frérot. James wants to take you to the theatre, museums, and fine dining. I’ll take you to the fun places where men kiss men and recite risqué poetry. Could you help me with this?”

Regulus gets up again and finishes putting the dress on Sirius. It is too short at the bottom and doesn’t quite fit around his shoulders and waist. Yet, he grins at himself in the mirror.

“Not bad, is it?”

“Very bad. Do you think Lupin will like this costume?”

Sirius looks at him through the mirror. He smiles quickly and sits down at the vanity to pick through Regulus’ jewellery. “Lupin? Why would he care?”

“Oh, you know, he likes to have things done properly.”

“Right.”

“And he fucks you on the regular, so I thought you’d like to cater to his tastes.”

Sirius whips his head around to him. “Regulus! Since when are you swearing so much?”

Regulus smirks. “My apologies. I have had the slight inkling that Mr Lupin occasionally finds his way into your bedchambers after dinner. I, of course, appeal to your fragile sensibilities and good character when I say I hope nothing unseemly transpires during these midnight visits. I would hate to fear for your reputation and future.”

Sirius looks at him unimpressed. “Bugger off.”

Regulus grins at him through the mirror. “Stop rummaging through my jewellery like an old crow.”

Sirius doesn’t listen and chooses some earrings and hair combs for himself. “So, what gave you the idea that anything transpired between Lupin and me?”

Regulus frowns. “Was it supposed to be a secret? You’re not very good at that. A blind person could see how you’re always flirting over dinner.”

“No one else has noticed yet.”

“James doesn’t know?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, rather sure.”

“He really is daft sometimes, isn’t he?”

“You tell me. Can I borrow some make-up?”

“We’re in England, not France. English noblewomen don’t wear make-up. Fortunately.”

“Ugh, why are the English so boring? Anyway, do you think Lupin will like it?”

“Well, you, a man, as far as I know, are sleeping with a man who is known for his attraction to other men. Now, you are dressed up as a woman. Do I think this will appeal to him? No.”

Sirius rolls his eyes and flings himself back on Regulus’ bed. “He can still find me pretty. I’m still what he wants underneath. He looks so charming when I confuse him or catch him off guard.”

Regulus hums. “You’re probably right. People always care more about what’s underneath, don’t they?”

“Regulus,” Sirius says in that pitiful tone that drives him up the walls. “Not necessarily.”

“Oh please, who wouldn’t? Show me one man who can look at my body, lie with me like a husband, and still see me as a man.”

Sirius stays silent.

“I’m better off alone.”

“Don’t say that. A man will love you one day if you let him.”

“Not if he can’t see me as a man at all times. It’s my condition, I’m afraid. The only condition I have for a lover.”

“The only one?”

“Yes.”

“Surely other things matter, too. You can’t just take anyone for a lover. He should at least be nice.”

“What does character matter if he doesn’t exist anyway?”

“I’m sure he does exist. I long thought that no person who loved me could exist. It’s not true.”

“Sirius, you might be wearing a dress right now, but I dare say our situations are far from comparable. It is decided. I have that one condition that will never be met. Instead, I rather have good friends who treat me as a man.”

Sirius rolls on his stomach and looks down at his brother. “You deserve love. You do know that, right?”

“Deserve? I don’t know. Either way, I don’t see it in my future.”

“You really aren’t an optimist.” Sirius sits up. “Now, come, let us go downstairs to James for Luncheon. I want Remus to see me in this before I pass out.”

“Weak,” Regulus mutters and accompanies him downstairs.

James looks confused when they enter but shrugs off and carries on. Remus sees Sirius when they enter the dining room for lunch. He trips on air and almost drops the platter he holds, spilling soup all over it and his hands. Sirius smiles at Regulus triumphantly.

***

Lord James, Lord Sirius, and Lord Regulus are in London for two weeks, accompanied by Peter Pettigrew, Pandora, and – for some reason – Mr Lupin.

Evan Rosier takes them to the station on the eighth and then goes back home to bed.

While the family is away, the servants have enough tasks on their own. Rosier lives in a little cottage near the house on the estate. He has to spend the weeks looking after the carriages, cleaning, and making minor repairs, and usually, he works with Charlie, the groomer, taking care of the horses. Saddles must be treated, stables checked and repaired, and the horses must be taken out for riding.

Beyond all that, Rosier got a rather curious objective from Lord James for the time being.

So it comes that he sits in different pubs down in the Pot every other evening, telling all kinds of stories.

“I tell you, that man is proper mad for his wife,” Rosier laughs with a drink in his hand. “But she is so proper. She is almost dull, I tell you. But I do not wish to engage in gossip.”

A farmer slaps his back. “Oh, come on, old chap. We’re all mighty curious about the new Viscountess, and you’re sitting at the fountain of knowledge.”

“Well, I might be persuaded with another drink,” Rosier calls out. Quite the crowd has gathered around him at this point, and he has a new pint in front of him right away. “All right, so my Lady is a French girl from an old, rich house somewhere in the south of France. Originally, her family was English nobility, but went to France a generation or two ago. Can you imagine? Leaving us for that god-forsaken snail-slurping country?”

“The family must be mad!” a pubgoer says. He is secretary to a lawyer in town.

“Did a scandal drive them out?” another asks.

“I wouldn’t know. But the Viscountess is so proper, I don’t think she is capable of a real scandal! I’ve heard, Lord James fell in love with her at her brother’s party, and she wouldn’t even allow him to kiss her before he proposed.”

“Oh, that’s typical of Ladyfolk. They won’t show the slightest bit of love before you give them all your money,” a man shouts and laughs.

“Either way, Lord James gives his money gladly. He loves her so much that he’d spend his entire inheritance on her should she ask. But it’s quite all right because she loves him just as much.”

“Oh, does she?” a familiar voice asks behind him.

Rosier turns around to see the Baron Crouch’s son smirking at him. He buys a drink and sits with them.

“Yes, she does,” Rosier continues. “She can’t be without him for more than an hour before becoming gloomy and lovesick.”

One of the men at the table moans in boredom. “And I’ve heard the most curious stories about her! It is disappointing, really. She seems just as proper and boring as the rest of ‘em.”

“Is she at least as ugly as one says? The women have been gossiping that she is never seen because she is ugly.”

“Ugly? The Viscountess? No, never. I assure you that Lord James has deprived France of the only beautiful thing they had to offer. She is of frail health, that is why she stays in all the time. Anyone who thinks differently is merely jealous.”

Barty laughs into his drink and catches Rosier’s eye.

Rosier empties his glass. “Now, I’m afraid I must go. It was very nice, gentlemen, but I have quite a way to go.”

As expected, Barty follows him outside.

“That was a nice story,” he grins.

“What are you doing here? You can’t have been invited by Lord James.”

“Ah, as if he ever would.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes out and offers one to Rosier. “No, my father got on my nerves, so I decided to take a little trip. I knew your bosses would be gone and wondered if you had time to see me.”

Rosier takes the cigarette and lights both of theirs. “Ah, missed me?”

“I wouldn’t quite go that far, Rosier.”

“Missed my cock then?”

“That’s more like it. Shall we walk up the hill?”

“Unless you have a bicycle hidden around here, we will have to.”

Barty chuckles and follows him through the village towards Lioncrest Manor.

“So, what’s that story all about?”

“What d’you mean? It’s just the truth.”

“Oh, come on, Rosier. You can’t think me that stupid.”

“I can.”

Barty laughs and takes a drag from the cigarette. “Is it because of what they said in the papers? Damage-control? It was really unfair what they wrote – and entirely false, I imagine.”

“Entirely false, indeed. It wasn’t you, then?”

“Me?”

“Lord James thinks it was you. The Viscountess thinks it was that stuck-up bitch Lady Rowena.”

“I would never say such rotten words about the lovely Viscountess. I sooner believe your story about how James fell in love with her at first sight and married her just for a kiss.”

“Do you think it’s unrealistic? You seem quite smitten with her, too.”

“I’m smitten with a lot of people, Rosier. You should know that.”

“I do know that. Like I know that you don’t stand a chance with the Viscountess. By now, she probably knows that I fucked you in the carriage during your last stay.”

“How would she know?”

“I bet my last hat that Lupin told Lord Black. The story makes its way from there eventually.”

Barty shrugs and takes another drag. They make their way up the hill in the dark. The imposing Manor surrounded by lands and little cottages for some of the married servants looks like an Italian castle in an old Gothic novel at night. When Rosier first arrived a few years ago, he thought the Earl and Countess were snobby and ignorant of everyone working in their house. They would be like any other employer: Ignoring him, underpaying him, accusing him of stealing when they were sick of him, and then kicking him out.

It came differently. The couple was always nice when they spoke to him, though it didn’t happen often. Lord James and Lord Black invited him to drink with them when he drove them down to the Pot. And now, with his newest employer, he genuinely likes Lord Regulus. He is rather quiet but always friendly when he talks to him. He cares about the horse pulling the carriage and speaks to Rosier in French. He also pronounces his last name correctly for a change. He didn’t know what to expect when he first heard of the new Viscountess being a man and all that, but ultimately, he didn’t mind all the homosexual servants, kept to himself, and worked to preserve the Potters’ good name. In Rosier’s book, that goes a long way – he shares this sentiment with many of the servants.

“My house is over there,” Rosier tells Barty when they reach the top of the hill.

“Hey, do you know what would be a great fun?”

“I might have some ideas,” Rosier smirks, picking at Barty’s coat.

“We could break into the big house.”

Rosier frowns at him. “Why? They’re not home. They’re in London.”

“Exactly!” Barty grins and takes Evan’s hands, pulling him to the house and swaying him from side to side. “Let’s have fun. We’ll take the servant’s entry.”

“What on earth for? I can’t just let you into the house.”

“Not the house. Not really. Just the servants’ hall.” He pulls him to him until their chests touch. “I’ll suck your cock in the kitchen, and you have to keep quiet, or the kitchen maids will catch us.”

Barty winks at him and pushes their lips together. Barty is always good for some fun and rule-breaking. That is how they ended up snogging for the first time a year ago, anyway.

“Come on, it will be fun. We can break into Mr Lupin’s rooms and fuck in his bed.” Barty shoves his hands under Evan’s coat.

Evan looks up at the house. The thing creeps him out at night. But it is bloody cold outside and in his little house. It is warm in the manor, and Barty promises a good time. It usually ends well for him when he indulges Barty’s thrill-chasing.

“Alright, let’s go. But keep quiet and away from Lupin’s rooms.”

Barty grins and kisses him again. Evan pulls him over to the servants’ entry. He pulls out his keys and lets them in.

Barty chuckles and dances around the kitchen. “This is nice. This kitchen is twice as big as ours at home.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up and come here,” Evan mutters impatiently and pulls him back into a kiss, pushing Barty against the kitchen counters.

Barty laughs into his mouth and pulls Evan’s coat off. “Wait, let’s go upstairs.”

Evan frowns at him. “Upstairs? No. We can’t.”

“What are you so afraid of? They’ll never know.”

“Barty-“

Barty doesn’t listen. He quickly pushes past him and runs out of the kitchen to the staircase connecting directly to the dining room. Evan curses under his breath and chases after him.

“Barty, are you insane?”

“Yes!” Barty laughs and jumps around the dining table. “Come on, live a little. We can do it right here.” He hoists himself up on the dinner table. This man could single-handedly give Remus Lupin a heart attack.

“Come downstairs with me again.”

“No.” Barty kisses the air in his direction, jumps down from the table again and rushes out of the dining room.

Evan runs after him again. He catches up to him in the drawing room. Barty lounges on one of the sofas.

“Enough rule-break for one night?” Evan asks. “Do you want me to lose my job?.”

“Ugh, I thought you were like me, Rosier.”

Evan folds his arms on the back of the sofa and looks down at him.

“I like this job.”

“You told me how you stole from your other employers, set horses free, and all the fun shit. Where is that man? He sounds like more fun than you.”

“He works for people he likes now.”

“Bullshit. No one likes their bosses.” He sits up and puts his hand against the back of Rosier’s head. “Fuck me in the drawing room. Come on. No one will ever know. They’ll sit in our sweat and cum without even noticing, and we’ll laugh about it forever.”

“Bart-“

Barty kisses him again. “Come on. I want you. I need you.” He pulls on Evan’s buttons.

Evan can’t resist him like this. Barty is stupidly hot, and Evan doesn’t have a lot of options. If the fucking Baron’s son wants him, why should he say no? The family will never know.

Evan curses under his breath and pulls his clothes off before joining a laughing Barty on the sofa.

“One question,” Barty mumbles when Rosier undresses him and kisses the newly uncovered skin. “What is your first name?”

“You don’t know my name?”

“You never gave it.”

“Evan.”

Barty hums and smiles. “Evan… do that again.”

Evan flicks his tongue over his nipple a second time. He moves lower on his body, pulling the buttons to his trousers open and pulling them down. Barty rips at Evan’s clothes, taking them off impatiently.

“Careful, idiot, I can’t afford to buy new clothes whenever you get horny.”

Barty laughs and cups his cheeks to kiss him. “I’ll buy you new ones if need be.”

Evan grabs his jaw harshly. “Don’t confuse me with some whore. You can’t pour money on me and think it’ll get you something in return.”

“That’s what they all say until I write the check,” he says smugly. Little Arsehole. Evan rolls his eyes and lets Barty lean in to be kissed again.

The last pieces of clothing land on the floor. Evan runs his hands down Barty’s body, groping all the fleshy parts of him. Barty winces slightly when he grabs his side. Evan looks to check and catches sight of a nasty bruise. Barty redirects his attention so quickly that Evan isn’t quite sure he saw anything at all.

Barty pushes him to sit on the sofa and drops to his knees in front of him. “I’m going to suck your cock,” he says shamelessly, “And then you will fuck me. Right here. Until I come with your cock up my arse, right on this sofa.”

Evan pushes his hand into Barty’s brown hair, bending his head back. “You are insane.”

He grins widely. “That’s what you like about me.”

It is.

Evan rolls his eyes and lets go of him. Barty snaps his head back to him with the same grin still on his face. He places his hands on his knees and rakes his nails along his thighs.

“I always hated these sofas. Stupid red tones everywhere,” he hisses and licks his lips, leaving them wet and shiny.

“Shut up and start sucking,” Evan demands. Barty has a thing for being disrespected in the bedroom, a circumstance Evan enjoys very much.

Barty closes his hand around Evan’s cock and starts stroking him. Evan leans back on the Lord’s sofa as if it were his broken-down couch at home. If anyone discovered them, he’d be fired immediately. His nerves are on edge at the thought – which amplifies the feeling of Barty’s hot breath on the tip of his cock. When Barty's tongue swirls around his tip, Evan quickly forgets about jobs and Lords.

Evan looks down at him, finding Barty looking back, lips parted and spreading his spit on Evan’s cock. Barty winks at him. Evan is truly not immune to this man.

His blood is rushing to his nether regions, where Barty now slides his cock into his mouth. Evan sighs lowly. He won’t praise him too much, especially not so early.

Barty tightens his lips around him and starts sucking his cock, moving his head, letting it slide in and out along his tongue. He sucks harshly on him, then releases him, flattens his tongue to lick up his length, and takes him back in. Evan’s cock is quickly hardening in his mouth. Barty lightly scrapes his teeth over it, earning a little smack on the back of his head.

“Be careful with those fucking teeth, would you?” Evan says but can’t hide the enjoyment he gets out of this treatment. Barty hums around him and does it again.

Evan grabs the roots of his hair and holds his head in place to thrust his cock into him. Two can play this game. The only thing this accomplishes is Barty moaning and his eyes fluttering.

Spit drips from his bottom lip down to his chest. He wants to come on that chest, spread his load there, claim this man, own him for an hour. He wants to do to Barty what Barty wants to do to the ugly sofa, he realises with a chuckle.

He lets go of Barty’s hair and bucks his hips up. “Suck my cock, and better give your best. I don’t defile this couch with an unworthy lot.”

Something flashes in Barty’s eyes. He stops playing around. He drags his tongue up his length, presses into the slit, and slides his cock back into his mouth. His nails dig into Evan’s thigh, leaving little crescent marks. He lets go of him there and instead puts that hand on his balls.

Evan holds on to the sofa cushions, throwing his head back in pleasure. Barty swirls his tongue around his tip again and gently plays with his balls until Evan’s cock is rock-hard and covered in hot spit.

He doesn’t want Barty to stop. But he definitely wants to fuck him.

He gives himself another minute, thoroughly enjoying Barty’s mouth. Lust is chasing through his veins. Barty is on his knees in front of him, red-cheeked and spit covering his chin. Evan could get himself off to the sight alone.

He finally pushes Barty off him. “That’s enough. Now, come up here so I can fuck your stupid arse.”

Barty smirks and reaches for his coat, grabbing something from his pocket, before climbing into Evan’s lap on the sofa.

Barty crashes their lips together in a mix of lust and impatience.

“Fuck me,” he growls.

“Are you in charge now? I don’t think so,” Evan whispers and kisses him again. he places his hands on his arse and pulls him against him, groping at the white flesh. Barty pants into his mouth, sliding his tongue against his.

Evan blindly takes the glass vial Barty uncovered from his coat and spreads a bit of the lubricant on his fingers. Barty pushes Evan further back into the sofa, pressing his body against his in his eagerness. He lifts his arse, pushing against Evan’s hands, longing to be touched more, harder. Evan slaps him and then rubs the spot. Barty moans into his mouth.

Evan smears the lube over Barty’s hole, getting more of those needy sounds out of him. He breaks the kiss to lick and bite at his neck.

“Fuck, Evan,” Barty groans against his neck. Evan smirks and pushes his finger into him. Barty moans, not quietly.

“Be quiet, or they hear us,” Evan hisses, harshly thrusting his finger into him again.

“Who the fuck cares? More!”

Evan pushes a second finger into him, making Barty cry out in pleasure.

“Behave. Or I won’t fuck you at all. You want to come on this sofa with my cock up your arse? Better not cost me my job.”

“Is that an order?” Barty lifts his head to him.

“Obviously. And you better follow it. Or don’t you want this?” he smirks at him and gently bites his cheek. “Huh? Shut up and take my cock.”

Barty hums lowly and grabs his head to kiss him passionately. His body is hot and sweaty, and his hard cock rubs against Evan’s stomach. He can’t think of a lot of things he wouldn’t do for Barty Crouch right now.

He pulls his fingers out of him. Barty makes an unhappy sound into his mouth. Evan pulls back from his kiss and pushes him off him. He signals him to turn, so he kneels on the couch with his arms and chest over the armrest. It should be comfortable.

Evan needs a few seconds to recover the vial with the lubricant.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t remember the name of the people you want to anger with this,” Evan growls.

“Fuck, yes.”

He takes the lubricant and lathers it onto his cock. He positions himself behind Barty’s naked body. He leans over him and gently bites his shoulder. Barty reaches behind him to bury his hand in Evan’s hair and turns to kiss him again. He pushes back against him, rubbing his backside against Evan’s body. Evan scraps his teeth over Barty’s bottom lip before pulling back. He places a kiss on his shoulder.

The drawing room is dark, but he can clearly distinguish a discolouration on his skin. He touches it curiously. Barty twitches. Evan leans back to kneel behind him again but stares at his back. There is a bruise on his side where he thought he had seen it before. But there are also long, red streaks all over his back. Some are scabbed over, meaning they must have bled when made.

“What happened to you?” Evan whispers.

Sensing the shift in tone, Barty quickly sits up and turns around. “Nothing. What are you doing? You’re supposed to fuck me, not hold conversations.”

Evan frowns at him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, I want you to hurt me. Stop acting like a fool and put that cock to some good use, would you?” He lies down on his back and pulls his knees back so Evan can fuck him like this.

“Barty-“

“Evan. Can you just do it? Stop being so fucking soft suddenly. Bite me, slap me, choke me, fuck me. That’s why I’m here.”

Barty sounds desperate but in a different way than earlier. Evan swallows thickly. He should stay in his lane. They are here for a good time, not to remember the bad ones. He can do that.

He leans down and kisses him again. Barty runs his nails over Evan’s back, aiming to leave marks. He hooks his ankles behind Evan’s back and pulls him closer.

Evan breaks the kiss again. He looks down at him and smirks before biting his shoulder again.

“Yes,” Barty hisses, “Fuck me.”

“You’re not in charge,” Evan reminds him. “You want my cock?”

“Yes!”

Evan rubs the tip of his cock against Barty’s hole. “How badly do you want it? How badly do you want me to slam into you and fuck the living daylights out of you?”

“Fucking badly. Fuck, Evan. I need it. Please, fuck me.”

Evan reaches down and pushes his cock into him in one deep, hard stroke. Barty cries out, throwing his head back in pleasure and moaning his name.

“Fuck, yes, fuck me,” he mutters, “Just like that!”

Evan snaps his hips forward quickly, fucking the man in front of him into the sofa. He moans breathlessly, a mix of calling on god and cursing him, and saying Evan’s name over and over again. It is unbelievable that they used to do this without Barty muttering his name.

Barty reaches down to grasp his cock. Evan slaps his hand away. “You didn’t earn that yet,” he growls. Barty grabs the edge of the sofa and moans even louder, desperately bucking up his hips, looking for some sort of friction.

Barty is tight and hot around him. Every little cry and moan and usage of Evan’s name goes straight to his cock. With this and his former administration, Evan won’t last long.

He clasps his hand around Barty’s cock and starts stroking him with his thrusts.

“Oh god, yes, yes, fuck,” Barty groans.

Evan fucks into him hard and quick. He uses his other hand to pinch Barty’s nipple, drawing another cry from him.

“Just like that, fuck, Evan,” Barty’s voice is hoarse and deep. He lies in front of him, sweaty and flushed red. His chest gleams with sweat. His hair sticks to his forehead.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Evan mutters. He is aching for release at this point. The feeling of Barty around him, the sound of his voice, and the sight of him coming undone beneath his hands come together and break down on Evan. He quickly pulls out of him and jerks his cock a few times before spilling himself over Barty’s body and chest.

Barty thrusts his hips up into Evan’s hand erratically. He pulls him down to kiss him in a mess of force, lips, and teeth. He finally comes over Evan’s hand, moaning and groaning into his mouth, and scratching over his back.

They let go of each other slowly, panting heavily. Evan slowly leans back on the sofa, trying to catch his breath. Barty still lies in his spot, grinning like a madman.

“That was good,” he says finally and sits up.

Evan scoffs. “Just ‘good’? You seemed to have enjoyed yourself a bit more than just ‘good’.”

Barty winks at him. He dips his finger into the semen Evan spilt on him and draws “BC” on the sofa's backrest.

“Big Cock,” Barty explains when he sees Evan watching him.

“You are insane,” Evan comments. He hopes the maids will deep clean this couch before Lords James and Regulus return.

Barty dips into the mess on his chest again, tosses his head back, and obscenely sucks the cum from his fingers.

“And disgusting.”

He laughs and crawls over to him to press their lips together. Evan runs his hand through Barty’s sweat-soaked hair. “Shall we talk about your injuries now?”

He only rolls his eyes at him and reaches for his shirt on the ground. “I can tell you one thing: it was so good that I’m fucking exhausted. Maybe we should… take a little nap here, go for round two and then return to your cottage?”

“You won’t tell me?”

“It’s nothing. I fell down the stairs and scratched my back. Now, lie down so I can use you as my human pillow.”

After a bit of shuffling around and putting some clothes back on, Barty rests on Evan’s chest. Evan runs his hand over his back.

The shirt is slightly wet, probably from sweat.

Then Evan realises it is only wet in a few diagonal lines across his back. Some of the scabs must have torn when Barty was on his back, and Evan pushed him into the cushions.

No staircase Evan has ever seen looks like that.

***

Regulus has never been to London before, which shocked James – Regulus isn’t entirely sure why.

Most nights look kind of like this one right now: They are sitting at a table in the club with some men Regulus doesn’t know (and James and Sirius don’t either), smoking and playing cards. James taught him how to play on the train ride to London and now laughs heartily every time Regulus wins and bleeds the other men dry. Poker is more about reading people and not giving anything away than actual skill. Regulus has always fancied himself quite good at both.

It is only the fourth night in London, and he has accumulated enough money to repay James for the suit he requested from a tailor in the city. It won’t be finished until the end of their trip, but Regulus is confident he will find an occasion to wear it at home.

“James, you taught him too well,” Sirius says with a heavy sigh. “This is embarrassing. I’m losing to my little brother, who didn’t know what Poker even was a few days ago.” He empties his whiskey. “I think I’m going back to the house. I’ve lost all my money, and I’d hate for my dignity to follow by having to ask you to foot the bill.”

“You have dignity?” Regulus asks, astonished. “I never knew. You must introduce us someday.”

Sirius glares at him. “I’m leaving,” he says to James. “Take care that he gets home all right.”

“I will.”

“I don’t need a chaperone.”

James smiles and collects the playing cards. “Who is up for another round?”

One of the strange men at the table knocks his drink back. “Only one more. After that, I will either leave as the richest among us or as poor as the next beggar.”

“I’d suggest not setting your hat then. You’ll need it to collect coins in the streets,” Regulus says with a sweet smile.

The men look at him, annoyed. James chuckles and lights another cigar.

“And where are you from again?” one of the men asks.

“France. Aquitaine.“

„And what are you doing here?“

„My sister married Lord James, and I fancied to visit her in the country of tea and punctuality.”

“So, what do you think of England?”

“I quite like it. Of course, the bread and desserts are horrendous, the language lacks imagination, and the coffee barely deserves the name. But the men are easy to beat at cards, and I do enjoy winning immensely.”

James laughs softly. “Reggie, be nice.”

“I fear the drinks are getting to your head, Monsieur. You should not be so cocky, or your luck will leave you.”

“Englishmen are also so fantastically superstitious. Let’s put that to the test, shall we? If either of you wins the next game, you may take all the money I’ve won tonight. If I win, I get to choose one of the items you carry as trophies to take home.”

“Reggie, you’re really getting ahead of yourself now.”

“No, Lord James,” the other man says, “let the young man play if he likes. He’ll see what he gets out of talk like this.”

“Fine, have it your way.”

“Oh, you rejoin us this round, James.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, and the same rules go for you. I win, and I get to choose something of yours that goes into my possession.”

“He’s your brother-in-law. It’s only fair if you play, too.”

James sighs and agrees to another round.

Regulus hasn’t been drinking much, and at this point, he can read these men like books. He tries to give them a chance, really. But there is no hope for them. One after the other loses his money, a dice set and a silver pocket watch chain, respectively.

“I think it is time for us to go, Regulus,” James says when Regulus collects his winnings. “Gentlemen, it was nice making your acquaintances. Good night.”

“You owe me a thing,” he reminds him on the way out.

“All right, what do you want?”

“I don’t know… give me something. You have to carry it on your person right now. Other than that, you are free to choose.”

They step outside the club into London’s lamp-lit streets. Regulus pulls his scarf tighter in the cold air.

“And here I was thinking you made that bet to get something specific.”

“Yes, the chain.”

“The pocket watch chain?”

“Oui.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Reggie, I could have bought one of those for you – even with a real pocket watch at the end of it.”

“I liked his. I was looking at it all evening. It’s the only part of jewellery that English noblemen allow themselves, and as much as I aim to be seen as one of you, I do enjoy a bit of shininess.”

“You shall have all the shine and gemstones you want. I know what to give you.”

“Do you?”

James smiles and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his wallet and unearths a small silver coin. He reaches for Regulus’ hand and places the coin in it.

Regulus looks at it curiously. It is a French coin, polished and shiny.

“The first time I was in France, your brother dragged me off to some underground theatre performance. It was quite inappropriate and scandalous. It was some of the most fun I’ve ever had. By the end of it, people threw coins towards the stage, which I’ve never seen. When we were back at his flat, I found a wayward coin that must have landed in a fold of my coat instead of the stage.”

“And you kept it all this time?”

“It’s a funny memory. It cemented the friendship between your brother and me, too.”

“And you’d give it to me, though?”

“Sure. It must remind you of home, but only the good parts of it. Besides, I can remember that evening with or without the coin. It made quite the impression.”

Regulus grins and slips the coin into his pocket. “Please don’t let Sirius drag me to similar things here in London.”

“I’ll do my best. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to St. James’s Theatre. You’ll like it. We’ll see a play by Oscar Wilde. He’s a friend of your brother.”

Regulus stops dead in his tracks. “Sorry, did you just say that my brother is friends with Oscar Wilde?”

“Yes. You didn’t know? They met each other a few years ago. Do you want to meet him?”

Regulus blinks at him. “Meet him? James, I spent quite a portion of your money on differently coloured copies of his book The Picture of Dorian Gray. My brother has known him for years, and neither of you thought to mention that to me? You and Sirius are so daft, I’m losing my mind. Tu me rends fou.”

James chuckles and shrugs. “I’ll tell him to introduce you two. Now, keep walking. I want to go to bed, and poor Peter and Pandora are waiting for us.”

Regulus shakes his head. This man is really something. He’d buy him anything to make him happy, apparently, and remembers absurdly insignificant details about him, like this morning when he announced that he made sure that they had the correct jam at the house for breakfast and apologised for having the wrong one for the last few days – though Regulus didn’t even mention it. He simply didn’t eat the one they had and chose a different breakfast. James wouldn’t have that. Or the other day, James looked at his waistcoat and asked whether it was the same colour and pattern as one of the new dresses he got for their Christmas celebrations – it was. He pays such close attention to him sometimes and yet fails to think of the possibility that Regulus might want to know that his older brother knows bloody Oscar Wilde.

Never change, James. He thinks to himself with a smile.

***

Evan wakes up on the sofa in the drawing room. It is pitch dark in here. He is cold. He forces his eyes open and tries to look around the room. The last thing he remembers is lying here, coming down from his high with a naked, panting Baron’s son in his arms.

“Barty?” He whispers. “Where are you?”

He curses under his breath and searches blindly for his clothes to pull out his matches. He finds a candle to light in the dim light of the flame. Surely, no one will notice if it was used while the family was away, right? He quickly pulls his clothes on. What a gentleman, the Honourable Bartimeus Crouch Jr., leaving him naked and alone in here.

Some of the clothes aren’t his, he notices. Barty didn’t take everything with him, not his jacket or coat. He must still be in the house.

Evan grabs the clothes and leaves the drawing room. In the dead of night, the manor seems ice-cold and, honestly, even more scary. Not a sound is to be heard and not a thing to be seen. It could very well be a haunted castle.

“Barty?” Evan asks. “Is anybody there?”

His voice echoes faintly through the gallery. Nothing comes back.

Maybe Barty went upstairs to the room he sometimes stays in because he got too uncomfortable on the couch. He’d be daring enough to do it. Evan goes upstairs to the west wing, where Barty has his usual room. Every chamber he tries is empty.

Maybe he went downstairs to eat? Groaning, he makes his way to the nearest servant’s door when a thought hits him.

Lord James approached him about spreading the story in the village, mentioning his theory it could have been Barty who leaked the first one. Barty was always around Lord Regulus and called him “the lovely Viscountess” when speaking to Lupin.

“Fuck, no,” Evan whispers and runs down the halls as quickly as possible without killing the candle. He has no idea which room belongs to Lord Regulus specifically, but he knows where the family's bedrooms are situated.

“Barty!” Evan hisses and again gets no answer. He starts opening the bedroom doors, checking for light or a sign of life inside.

Finally, he notices a faint light from under one of the doors. He pushes into the room. “Barty! What are you doing?”

Barty stands by the wardrobe, looking inside. He turns to Evan with a smirk. “Oh, you’re awake.”

“What are you doing in here? Are you insane?” Evan rushes through the room and pushes the wardrobe shut.

“That’s the common theory, yes. I just like to have a little fun. What’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem? You’re breaking into Lord – Lady – the Viscountess’s bedroom, and you have the nerve to ask, What is the fucking problem?”

Barty laughs and jaunts through the room to the vanity, picking up a set of delicate earrings.

“So, I gather they sleep in different bedrooms, do they?”

“Why do you care? Put that down, get out.”

He grabs Barty’s hand. The man laughs and pulls him against him instead. “I like you better when you’re indulging my fun. You weren’t so eager to get me out of this house when I let you stick it in bent over the sofa.”

Evan stares up at him. He pushes him away from his body. “You used me.”

“Used? We both had fun, didn’t we? I’m just seizing the opportunity.”

“You fucking bastard.”

“Ugh, I wish. At least that would mean my mother had some fun at some point in her life, and I wasn’t the child of that prick of a man.”

Evan’s blood is boiling with rage. That little selfish prick tricked him, used him, and now dances through Lord Regulus’ private bedchamber.

Evan marches over to him, grabs him by the neck, and forces him out of the room.

“I don’t mind you being a bit rough, Evan,” Barty chuckles. “You know what would be fun? Doing it in James’s bed.”

Evan hurls him against a wall. He pushes him against it, fist pulled back to hit him, the other hand on his collar.

Barty just grins at him. “Yes, that’s right.” He wraps his hand around Evan’s wrist and tries to make him clasp his hand around his neck instead of his collar. “Come on, I could go for another round. You’re fucking hot like this.”

“You better shut your fucking mouth before I knock your teeth out. Now, go down there and leave this house, and pray I won’t tell anyone what you did.”

“Who am I supposed to be afraid of? Little James? He wouldn’t punch me even if he really wanted to. He’s too soft for that sort of thing.”

“Maybe. But you won’t like it when Mr Lupin comes after you.” He looks him up and down with disgust. “And you’ll be fucking dead if the Viscountess decides to deal with you herself.”

“I should be glad if she decides to do that. The angry French are magnificent in the sack. You’re proof of that.”

Evan spits in his face. Barty still doesn’t stop grinning. He drags the man through a servant’s door, pushing him downstairs and finally out into the cold. He locks the door behind him.

“I hope you fucking freeze to death out here,” Evan hisses and stomps towards his house.

“Can’t I sleep at your place?” Barty calls after him.

“Fuck off!”

“I don’t even have my coat!”

“Good.” And that is it for Evan. He doesn’t turn to see whether Barty starts making his way down into the town. He just knows that there isn’t a body near the doors the following day, and he decides not to concern himself with the whole matter any longer. At least not until it comes back around on its own.

***

Chapter Text

“Fate, Iago-like, had clearly shewed me that if I would damn myself, I could do so in a more delicate way than drowning.” Teleny 129

James enjoys taking people to the theatre far more than actually going to the theatre himself. He especially enjoys taking Regulus.

Lyopot has a small, local theatre with homemade costumes and part-time actors and actresses who usually sew dresses and cobble shoes. When James took Regulus there for the first time for a rendition of Romeo and Juliet, he seemed unimpressed yet enjoyed it.

A grand production at St James’s Theatre puts a wholly different kind of excitement on Regulus’ face. They go to dinner first, and Regulus keeps stressing about not getting to the theatre in time. In response, Sirius ate even slower.

“It’s nice to see you so excited,” James whispers while seated in their box. “I’ve barely seen you like this since before Christmas.”

“Considering that our families practically turned the dining room into a theatre stage, I should have enjoyed it more.”

“Now, you’re comfortable, so maybe you’ll enjoy it more. Right?”

“Right,” Regulus says with a smile directed at him, and James calls himself lucky. “I’ve always loved the theatre.”

“Did you want to become an actor as a child? I always thought it would be fun.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I wanted to write the plays. When we were children, I wrote little stories and made my brother, Nanny, and a maid perform with me.”

“I can’t imagine that going over well with your parents.”

“It didn’t. Which was fortunate because I made writing my rebellion. While Sirius wandered off to Paris, spending the family’s money and stealing foreign undergarments, I decided to write a novel.”

Sirius leans over to them. “Hey, I’m here, you now? I can hear you.”

“You’re a slut.” Regulus says to him. “I thought you knew that.”

James chuckles to himself, which Sirius glares at him for, and decides to be offended. Regulus looks back at James and rolls his eyes theatrically.

“Did he willingly participate in your plays?”

“Of course he did. I always found a way to convince him sooner or later.”

“Well, I’d gladly act in a play you wrote.”

Regulus smirks. “Let me guess, you want to be the handsome Prince Charming who saves the kingdom and gets the girl in the end.”

“Is that how you see me? Am I your Prince Charming?”

Regulus looks him up and down. “You are definitely the kind of man that gets the girl in the end.”

The way he says it makes it not quite sound like a compliment. James is about to ask what he means when Regulus shushes him and turns to the stage to watch the play.

How on earth does Regulus get the impression James would get all the girls in the end? The only woman he truly wanted rejected him several times. Regulus is generally strange when the topic of women and Lily comes up. He always speaks of the matter in a weird tone James can’t place.

Regulus encourages him to continue seeking love and companionship from women during their marriage, but James isn’t even sure he wants it. If he is honest with himself, he rather enjoyed the last months of not thinking about brides and romance.

His history with Lily is long and sad. Sad for him, at least. He wanted her so badly, and she didn’t want him back. He was like a child who was told “no” for the first time in his life, and it made him only more persistent that she should be his wife someday. It was stupid and disrespectful – he knows that now. She grew up to be so beautiful James loved her even more. She also grew up to be clever enough never to cave in and agree to marry him, not without losing part of her character, at least. She talked about politics and art, so James became interested in politics and art. Knowing her to be his soulmate, he never gave up on his love.

He proposed, and she rejected him. She rejected a Viscount, the future earl. No one could believe it.

James’ parents didn’t want him to marry her. She doesn’t come from a wealthy or noble family. She has no title, position, or history to show for herself. She only has a mind of her own, strange opinions, and talent. None of which are greatly appreciated by the English aristocracy.

Yet, he didn’t give up. Instead, he was determined to prove his parents wrong. Lily could be the perfect bride, the perfect Viscountess, despite her political views, anti-monarchism, and continuous claims of not wanting to get married. She was just a young girl then. She would surely change her mind. She did in parts. She would get married, she said one day when he asked, if promised not to be reduced to the role of wife and mother. She would get married if she was certain that she wouldn’t have to give up her dreams and art.

James thought he understood. He promised her all those things, proposed again, and was rejected a second time.

The heartbreak sent him on a tour across Europe and even across the pond to America, to which Sirius reluctantly agreed. He has a passionate hate for Americans.

When James returned to Lyopot, he tried to be Lily’s friend. He supported her art, her politics, and her thirst for knowledge. He attempted to detangle his heart from this friendship and cast it aside, but he couldn’t. She turned ever the lovelier the more time he got to spend with her.

He really thought she finally started feeling the same. At that point, it wasn’t his plan to make her love him. Yet, the lingering looks, the smiles, her comments in favour of romance and marriage made him believe she may love him now.

He proposed a third time, like the madman he is. Her answer stayed the same. This time, she cried while saying no.

This brought him to France for the summer. The summer led to his marriage to Regulus.

For the first time in years, James thought of something other than finding love or trying to convince Lily to love him. He was focused on Regulus. He was focused on making him his friend.

He was glad not to think about any of it anymore. A burden was lifted from his shoulders and maybe from his heart as well. He is content like this. He needs a break from women and heartbreak. He would rather watch Regulus beat men at cards, or drink with Sirius, or complain about work to Remus. It is much more enjoyable than longing for one person's attention for years.

He looks at Regulus, who follows the play with his full attention. Unconcealed joy reflects on his face, and his eyes get that little sparkle James saw only a handful of times, like when he showed him the library for the first time. He doesn’t miss Lily.

“So, how did you like it?” James asks when they exit the theatre and make their way to the club.

“I loved it,” Regulus sighs happily. His breath turns into mist before him. “It was extraordinary! And so funny.”

“I liked the costumes,” Sirius shrugs, “didn’t care much for the story.”

“You never like anything,” Regulus dismisses him. “What did you think, James? Wasn’t it amazing?”

“It was quite entertaining, yes.”

Regulus shakes his head. “You are impossible, both of you. You just saw the newest creation of one of the most talented playwrights of our generation, and you don’t even appreciate it. And yet, you’ve met Mr Oscar Wilde, and I haven’t. Life is utterly unfair.”

James looks over to Sirius, who affectionately pats Regulus’ back. “I already called on Oscar this morning. I’m sure a meeting can be arranged within the timeframe of our visit.”

“The fact that you are allowed to call him Oscar is blasphemous. You don’t even like his work.”

“I do like his work. This just isn’t my favourite. Besides, out of all the things I do with my mouth, giving my opinion is the last thing that interests him.”

Regulus mutters something under his breath and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“Sirius, stop talking like that. You’re going to make little Reggie blush.”

“Blush?” Regulus looks almost offended. “Rougir? I’m French. If anyone is going to blush out of the three of us, it will be your proper, virtuous English arse.”

Sirius giggles and leans closer to Regulus. “Oh, mon petit, I must tell you the story of the first time I took James to a Parisian brothel! He-“

“That’s quite enough, Sirius, thank you.”

“I should be scandalised, Frérot. You dragged my husband into a Parisian brothel?”

Sirius laughs and pushes at Regulus’ head. “He wasn’t your husband then.”

“Still, what on earth were you doing in a brothel? I assume you didn’t aim to learn cross-stitch from them.”

“That really isn’t something we should discuss in the middle of the street,” James hisses at them. “Let’s hurry up for the club. I’d much rather see Regulus impoverish a row of men than remember that horrid evening.”

Sirius takes out a pocket watch. “I’m afraid you will have to go alone. I’m quite tired and should turn in for the night.”

“Oh, tired, you say. Of course,” Regulus says in pointed French.

“We don’t have to go to the club.” James shrugs.

“No, no. You go. I don’t want to take away from your fun of Regulus making grown men cry. Speaking from memory of past suitors, it is quite entertaining time and time again.” With that, Sirius quickly says his goodbyes and takes a different direction to Gryffindor House.

“Well, just you and me, then,” James grins at Regulus.

“Do you mind?”

“Far from it. Now, before the play began, you told me about your childhood writings. I want to know everything.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes. The plot, the themes, the characters – did you ever make Sirius wear a dress?”

“No, although I recently discovered that getting Sirius to start wearing a dress doesn't take much.”

James chuckles. “Come on, I want to know.”

Regulus sighs deeply. “I apologise, but I’m afraid you’ll have to get the answers out of me by beating me at cards.”

“What have I done? I turned my lovely Regulus into a gambler.” He sighs dramatically.

“Your lovely Regulus? I don’t know about that, but I know about your money, and I will win it.”

“Actually, it is all my money, so everything you win and lose is my money.”

“I’ll remind you of this next time you dare to read a price tag while looking at me funny.” Regulus shrugs, smirks, and rushes ahead towards the club.

James doesn’t win a lot of times, but it is enough to pry some bits and pieces of Regulus’ written works from him.

“I’m afraid the story I wrote that I liked the most was rather tragic. I wrote some ordinary, happy love things, and they are beautiful, and lovely to read, and they leave you blushing and smiling – but there is no passion behind them,” Regulus admits when everyone else has vacated their table, and they sit over their last drinks and cigars of the evening. The warm yellow lights highlight the brunette strands in his dark hair. The candle on the table reflects in his eyes, making their colour dance from grey to blue to green to brown.

“Tell me about the tragic one. What was it about?”

“Love.”

“Oh. An unrequited love?”

“No. L'amour de la folie. The kind of love that… drives you insane. The love that sets your skin on fire and consumes your every waking hour. The love that dominates your nights and dreams, and days and words. It makes you speechless and breathless. If you’re not with them, you are unhappy. If you are close, you need to be closer. The kind of love that would make you kill for them, hurt people for them, gladly give up your life and family and all you’ve known just to be with them. You would make the world stop turning for the person you love. It’s passion, and lust, and sweetness, desperation, and hunger, and romance. Imagine that love.”

James’ face heats up with Regulus’ words. He resists the urge to pull on the collar of his shirt and instead takes a large sip from his drink.

“And then one of them dies. Really, it is about revenge, murder, grief… necrophilia.”

James spits into his drink in surprise.

“As I said, la folie,” Regulus says with a smile and sips from his glass. “I’m not pretending it is technically perfect or a literal masterpiece, but if it were, I’d argue that it depicts the kind of love that, deep down, we all seek.”

“Do we?”

“I think so. As destructive as it may be, it is also devoted. Who doesn’t want devotion? The point is there is a moment when devotion, lust, love, and passion turn into something horrendous. The mind can hardly bear such love. It definitely cannot bear losing it.”

“You think everyone who loves so intensely must go insane when losing their lover?”

“If they feel their lover was taken too soon, or, worse, unjustly… yes. Insanity is the only possible outcome. Or suicide. Or both.”

James looks into the remnants of his drink as he tilts his glass. “Funny, I’ve always wanted that kind of love. I wanted to love like that and be loved like that. Now, I’m not so sure about it anymore.”

“I think it is absolutely reasonable to be absolutely insane about a person. You must simply ensure they don’t slip out of your grasp.”

 “You make it sound easy.”

“Oh, no. It is the hardest thing in the world, next to finding that love, to begin with. Not that I would know anything about it. It is as it always has been in art: Only the ones who have never experienced the ordinary fashion of love and heartbreak can write the most fantastical things about its power.”

James frowns into his drink. “What a depressing thought… I hope you never become disillusioned with love.”

“I’ve long been disillusioned, James. Now, finish your drink. They want to lock up, and if we don’t go on our own, we will be thrown out in a curious reenactment of Wilde’s play.”

Regulus should never be disillusioned with love. It should remain a magical and mystical thing for all. If love isn’t all it is cut out to be, where should James concentrate his romantic tendencies? If transformative, all-encompassing love is forever out of reach, how can James ever love someone and be loved in a way that feels enough?

James has money, status, a family, and friends. But he wants love, too, in the future. As much relief as he may feel at the thought of not being engaged in any courtship and drama at the moment, he still wants to die a man who has loved fully and completely and who was loved in the same manner.

He wishes the same thing for anyone who wants it. He wishes the same thing for Regulus.

***

James tries to show Regulus as much of London’s fine art and culture as possible during their visit. London isn’t as crowded in January as during the London season when all kinds of nobility stay in London for  Debutant and state balls. Experiencing London out of season is an entirely different experience - at least in James’ eyes, who happens to find garden parties, balls, and other events parents use as bride-hunting grounds rather jarring.

James brings him to galleries and art collections. Regulus knows a great deal about mythology and history and recognises them in paintings. James fills him in on everything he knows about art history and the painters. Sirius’ health seems to be quite low every morning and improves rapidly during the day. Consequently, Sirius doesn’t always accompany them on their outings but joins them for dinner and at the club in the evening. If James didn’t know better, he’d guess Sirius couldn’t handle his drinks anymore.

“I like this one,” James whispers with a smile. They are standing before a painting of a man surrounded by lions. “I’ve always wanted to go to Africa and see lions.”

“The London Zoo isn’t far from here. Surely, they have lions.”

“Yes, of course, but… I don’t know; I’d rather see them in their land. My family has a long-standing connection to lions.”

“Really?” Regulus asks, astonished. “Your town of Lyopot, Lioncrest Manor, and Lion’s Keep gave me no clue at all. I simply thought they were your favourite animals.”

James gives him a look. “Actually, they were the favoured animals of my ancestor. He called himself Lord of Lions.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He lived in Africa for a few years. He was involved with the slave trades, brought a new wealth to this family we haven’t seen before, and a title to match. He married an heiress of a merchant involved in the ivory trade, who hunted and bred lions and elephants. You may see why the elephants. The heiress brought young lions with her to England to the estate.”

Regulus blinks a few times. “Lions make curious pets, for sure. So, your family’s riches come from the slave trade?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Is your family’s history spotless? If you care to know, my great-grandfather had a falling out with his father about The Slave Trade Act. He almost got disinherited because he was in favour of it. Since then, my family has been rigidly opposing slavery. My father is even opposing the colonies we are establishing in Africa. What do you think?”

“I wasn’t raised in allowance of an opinion. I think, however, we can agree that owning and hurting people is wrong. I doubt our colonies down in Africa do them as much a favour as people like to claim. We probably should just leave them alone. If you want to hire servants and workers for your farms, you must be able to afford to pay them, too.”

“So, you don’t want to see Africa?”

“Not one bit. And before you get any stupid ideas, you better not try to hold lions at the estate. Get cats if you have to.”

“I would like to pretend that I am sound enough of mind to have never even suggested buying lions and holding them on our lands.”

“Are you sound enough of mind?”

“Not one bit.” James grins at him and continues to the next picture. “At this point, I’d rather populate our forests with deer, though.”

“For hunting?”

“No. I like deer. Stags are majestic creatures. I’d rather make them our family symbol than lions. Also, because we never partook in the slave trade at the same time as deer-breeding.”

“As far you know, you mean.”

“Don’t ruin it for me, Reggie.”

“No promises.”

James rolls his eyes but still grins while showing him the next picture. “You owe me a dark family secret now.”

“What you told me was a secret? You told it quite freely for that.”

“Still, you owe me.”

“I’d imagine Sirius told you everything there is to know.”

“Actually, he never speaks about his family. He never told me anything except when he spoke of you. I only met your parents a handful of times over the years, never for as long as for Christmas.”

Regulus sighs. “Okay, what do you want to know?”

“Anything.”

Regulus looks at him, annoyed. “I’ll give you the quick run-down. My great-grandfather, Sirius the Second, was an English Baron of something. His brother Cygnus was jealous that he wouldn’t inherit anything since everything went to his brother. So, he tried to prove that his brother wasn’t really his brother but his mother’s bastard child. It didn’t go anywhere. Sirius couldn’t bear the betrayal and the tarnish on the family name, especially his mother, so he killed Cygnus. It was a grand scandal, of course. It was so bad that his son, my grandfather, left England and went to France. He had two children, my aunt Lucrettia, who died young, and my father Orion. In an effort to mend the family, restore our reputation, and – most importantly – gather all of our money in one place, my father had to marry Cygnus's oldest granddaughter. Lucrettia was also supposed to marry my uncle Alphard, but she died in an accident or other. My mother’s other brother has three daughters of his own, one of which married French nobility, another an Italian peasant, which was quite the scandal, and the last one married a French nobleman who now inherited some title of an English Marques, and lives somewhere in the East.”

“Huh, I didn’t know you had extended family like cousins and the like. Sirius never spoke of any of them.”

“He hates them, except for Cousine Andromeda, the one who eloped with the Italian,” Regulus says with a shrug. “He hates our parents more, of course, but you can imagine why.”

James hums unhappily. “I won’t let that woman set another foot into my home for the rest of time. She can’t talk the way she talked to you. Not on my watch.”

Regulus sighs deeply and tips his head back. The black waves of his hair sway gently from side to side as he shakes his head. James reaches out to touch it. Can it feel as soft and silky as it looks? He stops himself before touching it, reminding himself that they are in public and it might look weird. Maybe Regulus will let him touch it later. Probably not, but a man can dream.

“I would make fun of your protectiveness if I didn’t find it one of your best qualities, James.”

“How do you get your hair to be so wavy? Sirius’s hair is straighter.”

Regulus straightens up again and looks at him with raised eyebrows. “Well, for one, we are different people.”

“You look alike.”

Regulus blinks and smiles for a moment. “Stop talking nonsense. Go look at the pictures.” He bites his lip and gets his face back under control, but James has seen the smile. James lives to make him smile. He looks so lovely when he does it and even lovelier when he smiles because of him.

***

Sirius’ idea of a good time can range from fine dining to an evening of dancing with port workers in run-down pubs down by the docks. So, when he asks Remus for an outing shortly after James and Regulus leave for another day of galleries, tea, and culture, he isn’t quite sure what to expect.

Now, they are walking through Regent’s Park. A biting wind pushes them forward. This morning, Sirius gifted him a new coat for this outing.

“This is quite beautiful,” Remus admits. “I’ve almost forgotten how beautiful this city can be.”

Sirius smiles and waves his walking stick around. “Isn’t it? That’s why I wanted you to come with me. I love sharing this with handsome young men.”

“I’m older than you.”

“But twice as handsome.”

“Now, you’re just flat-out lying, Seren.”

Sirius smiles at him.

Remus clears his throat. “Of course, it is only beautiful as long as you stay on the beautiful side of things.”

“Then let us do that, my Moon. Let us only do the beautiful and happy things, and don’t dare to think of a single bad thing that happened in this city.”

“Well, it is a city. The majority of things that happen in cities are bad. That is what a certain brand of people defines as the big-city-charm.”

“What kind of people?”

“People like you, I’d assume.”

“What a preposterous idea!”

“But correct?”

“Fully!” Sirius exclaims and laughs. He is so beautiful when he laughs, and his long hair swings softly around his face.

They walk along the lake for a while, and Sirius talks about the club nights with Regulus and James and plans for when he will return to Paris and for how long. Remus doesn’t want him to go at all.

Only a handful of people are in the park with them. Lazy strolls aren’t necessarily a winter leisure activity, not even for bored nobles. Remus shudders in the cold when they stay by the lake too long.

“Are you cold?” Sirius asks. “Should we go find a cafe? Sit inside and have tea? It’s a good time for lunch.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Any place you recommend?”

“Not in these parts.”

“Fine, I’ll choose. I’m feeling like torturing you with French pastries,” he grins.

“You are a cruel man. But I’ll indulge you, my Lord.”

“How gracious of you, Mr Lupin.”

Sirius takes him to a small French café they are almost underdressed for. The servants give Remus strange looks. That is another thing about cities. At Lioncrest, and even in Lyopot, everyone knows him and his face. Barely anyone stares anymore at his scars, except children. In the city, where no one knows him, they stare. They must spin fantastical tales in their heads about their origin. They always stop and look at him before they let him into establishes as fancy as this one. Remus knows they want to turn him away, but Sirius, charming, beautiful, and stubborn Sirius Black, won’t let them.

“I think we’d rather have a table by the windows, in the sunlight,” Sirius says when they try to place them in the back.

The rich and beautiful are truly powerful in this city, powerful enough to make requests in other people’s houses and have it understood as an order.

“Choose anything you like,” Sirius says as they are presented with the menu, “Let me spoil you.”

“Be careful. Say that often enough, and I will spend your family’s fortune.”

“You wouldn’t. You’re too decent. Although god knows, I’d let you.”

Sirius buys him French treats and coffee, insisting that Remus cannot always drink tea. All day, he has been trying to pry stories out of him of his former life in London. He is good-natured about it, treating it like a game. Remus doesn’t want to talk about it but decides to be playful instead of annoyed with him. How could he be annoyed with him when the cool sunlight hits his face through the window like this?

Sometimes, when Sirius is away for a long time, and Remus comes back to his senses, remembering the past and his promises to himself, of which he has broken almost all in Sirius’ favour, he wonders whether he is only so smitten with the man because he is the only one around. Of course, Sirius is the most handsome man at Lioncrest and in Lyopot – but the bar is low, and the potential partners scarce. But even here, in the heart of old money and class, Sirius remains a testament to God’s favour upon humanity.

From all the people Remus could have met and fallen for, at least it was someone so beautiful. He would give anything to keep him forever. He would never dare to ask him, of course. He will continue to be snarky, roll his eyes, and reject him playfully until he says please before kissing him. He will sneak into his room, make love to him, make comments that are vastly out of line from a butler to a Lord, and disappear again.

It is more than he ever thought he would get.

It seems ever the more wonderous to sit in a café with his secret lover in London when, just a few streets away, his life was so drastically changed from one day to the next. When he returned to London from Reading, he considered taking his life right, just feet away from where he is sitting now. Then, Lord James sent him a telegram and, like a Guardian Angel, saved him and gave him a chance. A chance that led him into Sirius’ arms.

He told himself, only one more love. Only Sirius. Only for as long as he’ll have him.

But by everything holy and unholy, he hopes he’ll have him forever.

***

A few days later, Regulus cheats himself out of a day spent with James and Sirius. He tells the men he has errands to run, he’d rather do without them. Per James’ insistence, he takes Remus with him. Per his own preference, he takes Pandora, too. They take Peter so he doesn’t have to stay alone at the house and because they need someone strong to carry something.

“Where are we going, my Lord?” Pandora asks. She wears a purple hat adorned with flowers and ribbons and a dress to match. She looks quite happy about being taken out and about in London. Regulus considers taking her to the science museum in the afternoon. It should interest her a great deal.

“I have a meeting with an art dealer at the gallery James and I visited the other day. Afterwards, you all may go your merry ways but do tell Lord James and my brother that we’ve been together all day, or they will try to rip all of our heads off. I won’t care, but Sirius is so cranky the day after screaming his throat sore, and I’m not in the mood to deal with it.”

“An art dealer? That explains things,” Remus mutters. He is helping Peter carry the big, rectangular package.

“What kind of painting is it?” Pandora asks.

“That won’t be of your concern.”

Regulus leads them to the gallery. When they were here last, he luckily found a moment to speak with the gallery curator while James looked at a picture of a deer. He managed to make an appointment with him by letter afterwards.

As they reach the gallery, they are admitted by a young man after he introduces himself as “Lord Sirius Black.” Officially, a Lord Regulus Black does not exist, and he didn’t want to make embarrassing explanations should someone enquire about his name.

“Can the servants set down the painting somewhere?” Regulus asks.

“Of course, over here, please.”

Regulus nods and smiles. “Very good. You may go now.”

Remus frowns at him. “Are you sure, my Lord?”

“Yes, very sure. You may return to the house or wander around the city as you like. You can wait outside just as well if you wish.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Peter says with a smile. “Mr Lupin, you won’t contradict this offer, will you?”

“Go ahead, Peter,” Mr Lupin says, quickly ushering Peter and Pandora out of the gallery.

Regulus looks at the curator.

“May I offer some tea, my Lord?”

“No, thank you. I would like to get on with business.”

A second man joins them in the main room. He seems to be in his mid-forties and well-dressed.

“Ah, Lord Black, may I introduce Mr Stowell. He is the art dealer I have mentioned to you. Mr Stowell, Lord Sirius Black from France.”

Stowell shakes his hand. “How you do.”

“How you do.” – the greeting never made much sense to him.

“So, what do we have here? A piece from a private collection?” The man rubs his hands greedily.

“Not quite. I am here by request of my sister, the Viscountess of Gryffindor. She recently married Lord James Potter, the son of the Earl of Gryffindor. Have you heard of him?”

“Yes, of course. The Earl’s mother is very well known to anyone who has to do with art in England. She was the patron of many galleries and artists when her husband was still alive.”

“Then I think you will consider the Dowager Countess’s opinion when we speak of business. You see, my sister acquired a painting not too long ago but now can’t find a place for it in her home. She tasked me with selling it. If you want to have a look.”

The curator calls two boys to him, who carefully unwrap the package he brought with him. The picture is the painting by Lily Evans that Regulus initially bought for the sitting room. He loathes the thing by now and needs to get it out of his house.

The art dealer and the curator inspect it, making mumbled compliments and fashionable art-business gestures in front of it that Regulus believes are 80% just theatrics for his benefit.

“The artist is a very talented young woman named Lily Evans from the town of Lyopot. Her paintings are frequently exhibited in the local gallery, which is still patroned by the Dowager Countess.”

“It is a lovely painting, my Lord. It, of course, isn’t a masterpiece or an old classic, so the selling point-“

“I don’t care about the sum. I care that you take it off my hands. You see, I sent my servants away, and I will not be carrying it back to the house or back to the estate.”

“That can be arranged, of course. It is very pretty, and the artist is undoubtedly talented.”

“You see it, too, then?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you think she could make it in the art world beyond her little town?”

The art dealer and the curator exchange looks.

“I would have to see more of her work,” the curator says slowly.

“Of course. I don’t expect the opinions of a French Viscountess and a Dowager Countess famous for her knowledge of art to be enough for either of you. I simply ask that you write to this young girl, see her pictures, and do whatever you can to give her a start in the art world in London.”

“Give her a start?” the art dealer asks, as bewildered as if Regulus just asked him to give his life to prostitution.

“You said yourself, she is talented. We are all businessmen in one way or another, aren’t we? The question is simple: How much money does the Viscountess have to donate to this gallery for you to get this woman out of her town?”

The men stare at him for a moment and then exchange another look.

“Before you say your price, keep in mind you are not the only gallery nor art dealer in London, nor is London the furthest I’m ready to go. And I would utterly hate to have this conversation more often than necessary.”

The art dealer inspects this painting again. “You know, my Lord, your sister will be pleased. The painter is surely very talented, and a face pretty enough to upset a Viscountess will go a long way in London, even longer than raw talent.”

“Her face does not upset the Viscountess. It is in your favour that I will let this insult slide for now. Now, I will give you the young woman's address, and you will get back to the Viscountess – and the Viscountess directly – about the painting being sold and the young woman being brought up to London and introduced to the Art Society of England. Are we in agreement?”

Mr Stowell extends his hand again. “I think we are, Lord Black.”

***

After being thrown out of the gallery by Regulus, Peter decided to go back to the house, while Pandora wanted to wait in front of the gallery for Regulus. Apparently, he managed something about jewellery shopping and science museums earlier.

Remus decides to take a stroll around the city, taking the scenic route back to Gryffindor House.

He doesn’t pay too much attention to where he is going when he suddenly finds himself in front of a familiar house in Belgrave Square.

He stops when he recognises the door. He must stare at it for several minutes. A curious scene plays in his head the longer he remains.

He was just a footman then, working here in this house. In his most important memories, it was summer.

On his happiest day, it was dark. Rain was pouring from the sky, turning London into Venice. Water splashed on the pavement every time a carriage rushed by. A horse or two went crazy in the distance at the sound of thunder. They ran with a newspaper covering their heads, almost slipping on the steps down to the servant’s entry, laughing and cursing. They finally stumbled into the dry house. Remus caught his eye. They kissed.

On his saddest day, it was sunny. The heat was almost unbearable, and he was looking forward to taking off his footman gloves, signalling his new position as under-butler, about to replace the old butler in a few months' time when he should retire. He should have known it was coming. He should have known from the way the other man looked at him, resentment replacing the softer feelings from the year before. A knock came from the servant’s door. Remus opened up to a policeman who knew his name. He knew his name and everything else.

Remus cannot stop staring. A slashing pain shoots across his face along the scars. He brings his hand to his face, rubbing at the slightly raised, pink lines.

Maybe it wasn’t his saddest day. Maybe it was his angriest.

He tears himself away from the sight of the house. The street still looks the same. The entire area seems devastatingly unaltered as if a man’s life wasn’t ruined right at the foot of these steps.

Remus bites his lip harshly and keeps walking. He has things to do at the house, and when Sirius returns, he wants his schedule to be free for him.

The street is too noisy to pay attention to every sound. He doesn’t hear a door opening or someone walking down the steps.

What he hears is a familiar voice coming up behind him.

“Remus?”

He stops. The voice paralyses his brain momentarily, stopping him as suddenly as lightning strikes. A hand touches his shoulder. “Remus? Is that you?”

Slowly, he turns around.

The other man gasps and takes a step back. “What happened to your face?”

***

Chapter Text

“I yielded to my destiny & encompassed my joy” Teleny 129, continued

Their London trip is slowly coming to an end.

Regulus doesn’t really want to return to Lioncrest Manor. Maybe he will be able to convince James to come back for the season. He enjoys walking through parks and sitting in cafés and Gentlemen’s clubs. No one will ever recognise him or question his existence. He didn’t even fear discovery once since he came here. Drunken, mean men commented on his looks and called him names in an effort to insult him, but he knows it came more from a place of bitterness about losing their money than actual recognition. Besides, for every comment, as much as it may have stung, Sirius gave them an insult of his own, James complimented him, and he bought himself a drink.

Life in London isn’t bad. Life in London is pretty good, actually. It is as free as life at Lioncrest but more social. Regulus never considered himself a social person – far from it, honestly – but here he loves it (mainly because, in this case, being social means being mean, insulting other men, robbing them of all their money, listening to James’ stupid jokes, and getting tipsy. He still hates the kind of social where he has to make actual conversation while smiling and remaining polite. No clothes, haircut, or even a different body could make that pleasant.

Regulus, James, and Sirius sit in the drawing room for afternoon tea. Remus is standing at a side table where he arranged for teatime. He was supposed to make a cup for Regulus, but now he just stands there, staring into space. He holds sugar nips in his hand and was in the process of gently placing sugar cubes into Regulus’ tea.

Regulus looks at him expectantly. He follows his line of sight, expecting it to land on Sirius, but there is just nothing there.

“Lupin? Are you all right?”

Lupin startles and the sugar falls into the cup, making the tea spill over the edges.

“Remus,” Sirius exclaims, “are you okay?”

“Yes. Apologies. I will get a new cup.”

“No need. I’ll survive it.” Regulus takes the sugar nips from him and puts one more sugar cube into the tea. He likes it in a one-to-one ratio (Regulus is certain James is incapable of judging someone unless it regards Sirius’ and Regulus’ tea habits). “Maybe you should lie down. You look like you didn’t sleep in days.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Sir.”

“Suit yourself,” Regulus shrugs and goes back to the sofa. The furniture at Lioncrest is better.

“Really, Remus, are you okay?” James asks concerned. “You’ve been out of sorts the last few days.”

Regulus searches for Sirius’ eyes across the room. What is he doing with that man night for night?

Remus clears his throat and shakes his head. “I apologise. It is the city air, I’m afraid. It is very unbecoming to me. I will be up to shape as soon as we return to Lioncrest Manor.”

“Maybe you should go to bed. We can manage. Send a footman up if that makes you feel better.”

“That is unacceptable, my Lord. I am able to do my job.”

“Absolutely not,” Sirius says and gets up. He opens the door to the drawing room and calls the next person he sees to them. “Pandora, come in here.”

“Leave her alone. She’s a maid, not a footman.”

Pandora enters the drawing room. “Is something the matter, my Lord?”

“Yes, take Mr Lupin and bring him to his room. Supervise his room if you have to. I want him to lie down.”

“Be quiet,” Remus mutters, “Lord Black, I am perfectly able to get through teatime.”

Pandora looks at Regulus. “Sirius is being dramatic. You can leave, Pandora. She has enough on her plate without you assigning her the mother role to your- butler.” He glances at James. How can it be possible for him not to notice what is going on between Sirius and Remus?

“Pandora, that is a very pretty necklace you’re wearing,” James remarks because, of course, he will notice that sooner than the love affair in front of him.

Pandora reaches up to the pendant she wears on top of her dress. It stands out against the muted, black Lady’s Maid dress.

“Thank you, my Lord. It was a present from Lord Regulus.”

James looks at her confused, then at Regulus. “That is very nice of Lord Regulus.”

“Stay calm. I bought it from my winnings from the club.”

“I didn’t even say anything. When did you ever hear me say you’re spending too much?”

“Just making sure I’ll never hear it from you. Pandora, could you go up to my room and bring me the box with the things we bought the other day?”

Pandora nods and leaves quickly. Sirius walks over to Remus to whisper in worry to him.

“I bought you something, too,” Regulus says quietly to James.

“You bought me something? Why?”

“I felt like it.” He shrugs. “I went shopping with Pandora and then took her to the Science Museum.”

“Go on like that, and I’ll start thinking you’re sweet on her.”

“I believe in treating people who work in your house kindly, while people who do not work closely enough with you to form emotional attachments should be intimidated into keeping silent.”

“Of course, should have known.”

“How would you? You’re too trusting and kind.” Regulus smiles. Pandora returns, hands him a package and leaves again.

Regulus hands it to James.

“What is it?”

“One of the only jewellery pieces men are allowed to wear. But I thought you might like it.”

James looks at him curiously and opens the package. It isn’t much, just a curious collection of cravat and lapel pins Regulus saw in a shop and smiled because he thought James might like them.

James inspects them and laughs when he sees the ones Regulus knew he’d like. They have little antlers and deer heads on them.

“These are amazing. Thank you, Reggie. I will wear one for the party tonight.”

“Party?”

James looks at him confused, then at Sirius. “Sirius, you still haven’t told him?”

Sirius barely manages to pull himself away from Remus, who just looks annoyed at this point. “What? Oh, I wanted it to be a surprise. Did you ruin it?”

“Ruin what? Sirius, you know I hate surprises.”

Sirius sighs and returns to them on the sofas. “After James berated me for an hour, I called on Oscar last week, as I’ve told you. He invited us to a little gathering at his home tonight.”

Regulus stares at him. He can feel his eye twitching lightly.

“Are you going to react?” Sirius asks slowly.

James leans forward and waves his hand in front of his face. “Great. Sirius, you broke him.”

Regulus snaps his head in his direction. “I’m fine. I’m just wondering how my idiotic brother could think this would be a suitable situation for a surprise.”

“I thought you wanted to meet him.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “If I must.”

“Sure,” Sirius gives him a look. “Just promise not to go crazy when you see him.”

“Moi? Have you met me? I’m not going crazy over people. I just think he is brilliant, and I would like to have a conversation with him. That is all.”

“Of course.”

“Now, excuse me.” Regulus gets up and makes for the door. He needs to look through all his clothes and find something suitable. Maybe he has to take Pandora shopping. There is no time to lose.

“We leave at seven. Will that be enough time for you to get all dressed up and pretty?”

“Shut up, Sirius.”

He rushes out of the drawing room and upstairs. Meeting fucking Oscar Wilde with only a few hours of preparation time – genius move, Sirius.

***

Regulus looks unfairly attractive when he comes down for Wilde’s party. His dark curls frame his face beautifully, his skin is glowing, and his lips have a lovely rose colour to them. He is dressed in deep green, pale yellow, and grey. Everything pulls attention to his bright grey eyes, framed by long, dark lashes. He wears his recently won pocket watch chain like a trophy and a nice ring on his left hand he won at another card game. On his left hand, he only wears his wedding ring. James isn’t sure why he does so with any more certainty than he has regarding why he wears his every day.

Regulus isn’t the only one who made an effort. Sirius is all decked out in an expensive suit and a scandalous number of rings. James shows Regulus his small deer cravat pin with a grin, which makes him smile and roll his eyes – which is all James wanted anyway.

Sirius originally wanted to take Remus with him, but now they both decided Remus should stay at the house and catch up on some sleep.

They take a coach to Tite Street. Sirius gets them into the townhouse. “His wife and children are away visiting relatives,” Sirius says when they get in. “The worst thing you can do is being too uptight. Just have fun.”

Sirius doesn’t need long to get each of them a drink and then leads them into the main room, where Oscar Wilde lounges on a sofa, telling jokes surrounded by attractive young men.

Generally, there seem to be only men in attendance.

“Oscar, there you are,” Sirius says with a charming smile as he draws nearer. James and Regulus follow in his shadow.

Wilde looks at him and gets up with a flourish. “Sirius, how nice of you to come.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. May I introduce my brother? This is Regulus Black.”

Wilde’s eyes fall on Regulus. James doesn’t like the way he looks him up and down. It is an appreciative look – but too appreciative in a way.

“Regulus. I am delighted.” He takes his hand and bows to him. “The good looks are running in the family, I see. And here I was thinking your brother took all the good genes up for himself.”

“I’m flattered. Although I expected better of a man with your brain than such broad assumptions.”

James rolls his eyes hard. He must say, Oscar Wilde isn’t exactly attractive. He might have been a few years ago. But writing aside, men of Sirius’ and Regulus’ good looks wouldn’t give him the time of day.

“Why don’t you two come over here? Sit with me.” Wilde winks at Regulus and leads him over to the sofa where he was lounging when he came in. He chases the other young men away to make room for the brothers. James follows them, still unacknowledged by Wilde. He isn’t vain, but he does consider himself reasonably attractive. There is no need to ignore him completely, no matter how much more handsome Regulus looks today.

“You know, my brother is a big fan of your work. He asked me to introduce the two of you,” Sirius says with a smile.

“Is that so?”

“We saw your play at St James’s theatre the other day. When I learned Sirius knows the mind behind it, I simply wanted to meet you.”

“You liked it then?”

James empties his glass and waves someone over for another drink. He has met Wilde only once before, and he truly is a vain man, always hungry for compliments.

“I enjoyed it immensely. Not as much your novel, though.”

Wilde leans forward with a smile and balances his head in his hand. “I’m glad to hear. Of course, I offended the fragile English sensibilities. I’m thrilled to learn that the French are much more appreciative of my art.”

“Appreciative is one word. He bought six different copies in different colours,” James mutters. His glass is empty again.

Wilde’s eyes widen the slightest bit. “Is that so? But whatever for?”

Regulus shrugs. “Dorian Gray did it with the book gifted to him by Lord Henry, and I was in the mood for moral corruption.”

James whips his head to him so quickly he can hear something crack uncomfortably in his neck.

“Moral corruption happens to be a thing I am excellent at, especially with beautiful young men.”

I bet you are, James thinks to himself. He looks over to Sirius, who has shifted his attention to someone else a while ago when Wilde ignored him in favour of Regulus.

How can he be okay with someone talking to his little brother like this? Or look at him like this? Wilde keeps looking Regulus up and down and licking his lips.

Fucking pervert.

James clears his throat. “Regulus, didn’t you want to talk about writing? Storytelling and all that?”

Wilde smiles. “You’re a writer?”

“No. I’d like to be, though.”

“He’s quite brilliant,” James says. “You should talk more about that.”

“You never read any of my writing.”

“James, was it, correct? We’ve met before through Sirius?”

“Yes.”

“I remember you being in a better mood. Why don’t you get another drink? I hate for my guests not to amuse themselves.”

“He’s probably just cranky because there are no women to flirt with here.”

The man gives him a sly grin. “I do apologise. I cannot cater to all tastes every day.”

“No need.” Just stop trying to stick your perverted little hands down his trousers.

Wilde turns his attention back to Regulus. “If we find your friend an adequate distraction, I could show you to my office upstairs, where I wrote Dorian Gray. We can talk about your writing there, too.”

“Hey, Reggie, come with me. Let’s get a drink.”

“I still-“

“Reg,” James insists, takes Regulus by the wrist and pulls him away from Wilde.

“What is going on with you?” Regulus hisses.

“Me? What do you think you’re doing?”

“Having fun? I admire his work. This is like meeting Robert Stevenson.”

“Would you try to get into Stevenson’s bed?”

“Absolutely.”

“Reg!” James hisses.

“What? You brought it up. We’re just talking about writing.”

“You’re not just talking about writing. He practically told you to leave me behind and go upstairs with him to sleep with him.”

Regulus shrugs. “You have my permission to sleep with women. Are you going to ban me from doing something similar?”

“You didn’t really just say that, did you? Reg, you can’t. He’ll find out-“

“Not necessarily.” He leans closer to his ear. “You don’t need a cock to suck one, no?”

James’s body turns hot at his words. Mostly out of anger, he assumes. He will not let that man get near Regulus. He doesn’t deserve him.

“Your taste in men needs work,” James mutters. “He’ll only use you. He’s not good enough for you. He’s only a slight upgrade from Barty Crouch.”

“He’s far more talented than Barty.”

“And older and uglier.”

Regulus looks at him with a smirk. “My, my, James. Are you jealous? Again? This is quite instructive.”

James clicks his tongue. “No. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

Regulus shakes his head and smiles. He reaches his hand up to the deer-shaped cravat pin and traces the antlers. “Don’t you worry, Jamie. I’m not going to let him do anything. But you can’t ban me from a bit of fun and flirting.”

“What if he tries to-“

“Then you’ll look out for me, no?” Regulus takes a new drink, smirks at James, and returns to Wilde.

Yes, he will look out for him. No one is going to touch him inappropriately on his watch. But alone, people talking to him like this, and him using those words and flirting in return, is enough to put James in a bad mood.

***

Remus hasn’t slept properly in days, not since visiting Belgrave Square and seeing him again.

“What happened to your face?” he had the audacity to ask. – What does he think happened?

He looked just like he did the last time they saw each other, as if days passed, not years. They stared at each other. He reached out to touch Remus’ face. As if jolted back to reality, Remus jumped back and took off in the opposite direction.

So why is he back now? Why is he standing in front of the house in Belgrave Square, leaning over the black iron-wrought fence and staring down at the servant’s door? Why did he tell Sirius to go alone to Oscar Wilde’s party, though he told him days before he wanted to go with him? Why did he lie and say he would stay in bed, sleeping off a cold? Why is he here?

He has no answer for himself.

The door opens suddenly. The man who steps out is dressed as a butler. Of course, he is. Remus was supposed to be butler here before he was taken.

“The picture is getting clearer,” he growls towards the man.

“Remus, I’m glad to see you,” he walks up the stairs. “I hoped you’d come back. I didn’t know how to find you.”

“Why would you have the right to find me?”

“I-“

“Why would you have any rights, Fenrir?”  

The man clenches his jaw. He looks nervously up and down the street. “Could you come in? I’ll make tea for you. His Lordship is out, and most servants are busy now.”

Why would he ever go inside? Why would he be alone with Fenrir?

Before he can blink, he finds himself sitting in the old servant’s hall with a cup of tea.

Fenrir is sitting across from him at the table. Neither of them has said a word since entering the house. Ernst’s spoon clicks in the cup when he stirs his milk.

“How are you?” He asks finally.

“Well,” Remus mutters. “No thanks to you.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you in London again. Where do you live now?”

“West.”

“By the coast?”

“Almost.”

“Sounds good.” Ernst bites his lip and then takes a long sip from his tea.

Remus spent years in this very servant’s hall. He worked himself up from Hall Boy to Footman in slow, labour-intense years. He knows the crack in the table and the spot on the wall next to the kitchen door. As a boy, he used to hide under the table when the old butler came in because he was scared out of his wits of him. He had his first kiss just behind the back door, wet from rain and hair wild from the storm.

“Remus… What happened to your face?”

“What do you think happened to it? What do you think happened after you sent me to prison?”

“I didn’t send you to prison. I didn’t make the laws; I didn’t make up the jury-“

“You testified against me. You were my lover, and yet you managed to testify against me without incriminating yourself. I went to prison, and you got my position. Convenient.”

“Are you suggesting I testified against you to become a butler?”

“Are you denying it? Sitting there as his Lordship’s butler?”

“I needed to save my own skin, Remus.” He huffs and reaches over the table for his hands. Remus pulls them away. “Would you have rather seen me being dragged away to prison, too?”

“I would have rather seen you keeping your mouth shut.” Remus raises the cup to his lips. At a glance, he sees his reflection in the black tea. The ghastly slashes across his face stare back at him. “Why did I even come? You’d never admit to what you’ve done.”

He puts the cup down again with force. The tea sloshes around and spills over the edge. He pushes himself up from his chair.

“I admit I testified against you. What more do you want me to say-“

“I want you to look me in the eye and admit that it was you who gave my name to the police,” he growls at him.

Fenrir looks up at him with his dark bug eyes. He doesn’t say anything.

“How could you? I loved you-“

“Well, love isn’t paying the bills, is it?” he exclaims. “You’re so naïve. You’ve always been. You thought you could work in a house like this for his lordship and then talk about rights and protests for our kind? It was just a question of time until you were found out, and you would have taken me down with you!”

“So, you rather sent me to prison?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I did what I had to do back then. I just tried to survive.“

“What you had to do? You ruined my life! You sent me to prison! Look at me! Look at my face!”

“You think you're the only one who suffered? I paid my own price.“

Remus laughs, short and harsh. He gestures around the room. „Yeah, I can see that. High price you paid, a promotion and a lover out of the way.“

“Come down from your fucking moral high horse, would you? You think you’re so much better than me – you always did. You didn’t deserve that promotion in the first place.”

“But you did?”

“Yes. I’ve been here a decade before you ever came.”

“So, you admit it? You admit you sold me out to become butler?”

The man stands up now, too. “I never claimed to be a good person, Remus. I thought I was doing what was necessary to protect myself. Life is not a fairytale. I needed to make sure I had a life.“

„At the expense of mine.“ Remus shakes his head in disgust. “I loved you, Fenrir. I loved you more than anything. And I thought you loved me – I don’t understand how you could do this!”

“When will you finally wake up, Remus? Love doesn’t exist, especially for the likes of us. It’s an invention to make convenient marriages palatable for the young. No one would have any use for love if novels didn’t spoil all the young heiresses into thinking they should marry for love instead of titles and riches. Whatever it was between us, it wasn’t love. I cared for you a great deal, but I cared about my own life more. What do you think you will get from believing in love? Do you think some upstanding man will fall in love with you, change the world and laws, marry you, and give you a comfortable life? Wake up.”

Remus’ hands are shaking in anger. He feels like all the air was forced out of his lungs. This man was his great love. The one he would have risked everything for.

“You never loved me, did you?”

He scoffs at him. “There’s no such thing. Only ambition. You’d do good remembering that and move on.”

Remus feels sick to his stomach just looking at him. He grabs his coat and heads for the back door.

Why did he come here? Why did Fenrir even invite him in if he had nothing but poison to spew?

He puts the coat on before heading out when he catches a glimpse of himself in a small, broken mirror that has hung there even in his days. He looks at himself and the scars cutting up his face. They are the internal mark of his love. The price he paid for that man. He could have given him away when he stood trial. He could have incriminated him when he heard his testimony. He didn’t. He loved him too much. Now, Fenrir has his position, and Remus has these scars.

Maybe he is right. Maybe love does not exist. Maybe it is an invention for silly women of the upper classes with nothing to do in their day.

One way or the other, love is not for him.

***

Sirius lost track of Regulus and James at some point.

He has many friends and acquaintances, whom he only sees when he comes to London, and some he only sees when he comes to Wilde’s soirees. He knows Regulus to be in good hands with James. He trusts the man blindly, even with his little brother’s welfare. That was the very reason he arranged their marriage after all. Sure, Oscar may flirt and live up to his surname a bit too much at times, but surely nothing will come of it with James there. More importantly, Regulus wouldn’t let Oscar do anything, and while Oscar has many questionable traits, he wouldn’t touch someone against their will.

Sirius cannot even imagine anyone touching his sibling. It may be because he grew up thinking of him as his little sister whose reputation and character needed to be preserved and protected with more care than the Mona Lisa, but one way or the other, his brother is an innocent young man who probably doesn’t even know what does happen during sex. Sirius wants it to stay like this. He is the evil, promiscuous, scandalous, sodomite brother. Regulus is the upstanding, reputable, civilised brother who is a little bit of a psychopath if given reason and free rein over gardening tools. 

It is as it was intended, and it shall stay like it forever.
James will surely aid him in this endeavour.

Eventually, around midnight, Sirius finds himself upstairs. Then, Oscar finds him there, too.

“There you are. I wondered where you’ve run off to,” Oscar says and comes over to him. He playfully pushes him against the nearest wall. “I barely got to see a glimpse of you tonight.”

“I think you were a bit preoccupied with my brother.”

“Ah, he is very pretty,” Oscar smirks, grabbing Sirius’s lapel. “And clever. Cleverer than you. Not prettier, though.”

“Hmm, you’re walking a dangerous line, Oscar. You don’t want to insult me or my brother, do you?”

“There’s a lot of things I’d like to do with you. Both of you at the same time, preferably. I don’t think your friend, the bespectacled lad, would let me.”

“Neither would I.”

Oscar pouts at him. “Killjoy.”

“Where are James and Regulus?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen them in an hour or two. I saw the pretty one speak to writer friends of mine, and then the other one whisked him away.”

“To where?”

“I don’t know. If they’re lucky to somewhere with a bed.”

“What?”

Oscar smirks. “Shall we check?” He takes Sirius’ hand and pulls him to the master bedroom. “No, they aren’t here. How unfortunate for them. …How lucky for us.”

Sirius giggles and kicks the door shut behind him while Oscar lights a candle.

Oscar looks back at him and licks his lip. He shrugs off his jacket and lets it drop to the ground. “It’s been some time since I last saw you.”

“I couldn’t come up to London sooner,” Sirius grins and comes up to him. “James married my sister in the summer. I stayed with them for a few months and had to work out of Paris before that.”

“Such a busy man. I’ll take your mind right off everything but me.” Oscar pulls him in and kisses him.

Sirius kisses him back. Oscar is easy to please on evenings like this.

The man pushes Sirius’ jacket off and pulls on the buttons of his waistcoat. He kisses Sirius’ neck, pulling his collar out of the way with his teeth.

Oscar Wilde is a skilled man in all the right areas. Remus does it better. He takes charge in bed – far more convincingly than Oscar, one might add.

What is Remus doing right now? He didn’t look good earlier.

Oscar pushes him back on the bed.

Sirius hopes Remus is okay. He looked so happy until a few days ago. Maybe the memories of London caught up to him. It was selfish to make Remus come here with them. Sirius is a selfish man. He knows that about himself. It’s a family trait. He rarely feels bad about his selfish moments, though. He wasn’t raised to feel bad for it. Rather, he often justifies his narcissistic tendencies with his childhood and the cruelties of his parents. He suffered a lot, so why shouldn’t he live life to the fullest now and cheat existence into being pleasant?

Oscar drops to his knees in front of him.

Sirius wants to go back to Remus. He shouldn’t do this anyway. He promised Remus, didn’t he? Actually, he made sure there was an exception for precisely this moment. He asked Remus whether he could still sleep with handsome celebrities, thinking of Oscar Wilde and his little parties during it. Now that he is here, he can’t even concentrate on Oscar’s lips on his body. He wants Remus. He wants to make sure Remus is okay.

He wants Remus to be the only man whose touch his body has memorised.

It is curious how that man has taken up his whole mind ever since he first laid eyes on him. He saw him and needed to have him. He needed to touch him, taste him, hear his voice whisper his name in the dead of night. He has taken hold of his head, body, and heart – of his very soul even. And Sirius doesn’t want any other man to do this ever again, only Remus.

With a sudden clarity of mind, Sirius pushes Oscar away from him.

“Sorry, Oscar, sorry, but it just occurred to me that I can’t do this.”

“What?”

“I have to go. Immediately. It is very urgent.” He gets up and quickly redoes all of his buttons.

“Urgent? It is past midnight. Where could you possibly be expected?”

Sirius looks down at him. “With another man, I’m afraid. Should you see my brother or James somewhere, tell them I went home. Goodbye.”

Sirius rushes out of the room, down the stairs, and almost trips over a drunk actor at the foot of the stairs. He grabs his coat and heads out into Tite Street.

When he reaches Gryffindor House, a footman opens the door for him. He tells him that Remus went to bed hours ago. Sirius doesn’t care. It is a selfish thing he is about to do that he shall not be sorry for.

He races up to the servant’s quarters and, with a simple knock, enters his room.

Remus isn’t asleep. He pushes himself up, squinting in the dim light of a gas lamp.

“Sirius?”                                                                                                     

“Remus, how are you?” He pushes his shoes off and climbs on top of him.

“Your hands are cold. What time is it?”

“Past midnight. I just came from Wilde’s.”

Remus hums. “You should go to bed. Your own.”

“Will you join me?”

“No. I’m tired.”

“That’s all right. You’re supposed to sleep.”

“I mean it, I’m tired. Could you go?”

“In a second, my moon. I’ll leave you to your beauty sleep as soon as possible, but I must tell you something incredible first.”

“Do you absolutely have to do it now?”

“Yes.” Sirius grins and brings their faces together until their noses almost touch. Remus looks so handsome, even sick in the dead of night. And he must feel for him as he does, right? He must feel it, too, the all-encompassing emotion that takes Sirius whenever their eyes meet.

“You see, I was at Wilde’s party with Regulus and James. And usually, I share intimacies with Oscar. We go up to his room and have a lover’s tryst.”

Remus frowns at him. Of course, he can’t know where this is going.

“And we started again when a thought hit me, Moony. It hit me and took me away from Oscar, chasing me right up to your bed. Isn’t it amazing? Isn’t it extraordinary?” He smiles down at him and gently pushes a loose strand of hair out of Remus’s forehead. “I’m in love with you, Remus Lupin.”

Sirius grins down at him, waiting for Remus’ answer.

Remus blinks rapidly at him.

Just answer. Just say it back.

Sirius looks down at him with suspense.

There is no need for such a dramatic pause. Remus loves him, too. He has to.

Remus frowns at him.

Sirius can feel his face heating up.

His hands start feeling clammy. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears.

Just say it back. For heaven’s sake, just say it back.
Say something.
Anything.

Sirius bites his tongue.

Remus finally looks away from him and parts his lips.

Just say it back. Say it back. Say it back.

“This must be a dream. A Nightmare after the day I've had. Yes, and so you should go to bed. You’re talking nonsense.”

A sharp pain tugs at his chest at his words.

"No-Nonsense?" Sirius repeats. His voice sounds off to his own ears, as if he stood at the other side of the room. "What are you saying? Moony? Just- Just say it back. Come on, say you love me, too. I know you do. You- You must. This- between us - we love each other." 

Remus's face twists into an expression of pure disgust. "Love. What an idiotic thing to believe in. It's not real, you silly nobleman. Not for men like me. And not between men like us. I'd have to be mad to do such a thing." 

For a moment, Sirius genuinely fears Remus has taken a knife from somewhere and stabbed him. He is almost inclined to look down and check for blood dripping from his clothes on Remus’ blanket.

Sirius opens his mouth to ask, but he finds himself speechless. His mouth feels dry as if he had never had a drop of water in his life. His intestines seem to have formed a tight ball of emotion in his gut, and he cannot utter a single sound.

He slowly pushes himself off Remus’ bed. He cannot tear his eyes away from the man who, in return, won’t look at him. Sirius takes his shoes and slowly backs out of the room.

***

Chapter Text

“As I said to Harry, once, you are made to be worshipped” The Picture of Dorian Gray 145

James, Sirius, and Regulus travel 1^st class on the train back to Lyopot. Remus, Pandora, and Peter travel 3^rd class.

Sirius is suspiciously quiet all morning. Regulus runs on three or four hours of sleep and is in a bad mood.

James has spent last night successfully protecting Regulus’ chastity, so he couldn’t be more satisfied with life at the moment.

They are almost at their station. Regulus is sleeping next to James. James is reading a newspaper, and Sirius sits opposite him, staring out the window.

James turns the page of the newspaper to the gossip column. He usually doesn’t pay much attention to it, but after Regulus’ last outburst, he rather checks whether it says anything about them before Regulus can get his fingers on it.

“In the heart of Gryffindor's upper echelons, the enigmatic marriage of Viscount James Potter continues to capture the attention of society. As whispers and conjectures circulate, it becomes imperative to peel back the layers of this union to reveal the hidden truths beneath.

Our discerning eyes have cast light on the Viscountess, a woman who remains a subject of fascination – but for the right reasons? While some extend their sympathy to the Viscount for his unexpected choice, others raise discerning brows at the unfamiliarity of her background. Indeed, the esteemed Potters had long been associated with class and affluence until Lord James Potter was awarded power and free reign over Lioncrest’s staff. The choice of Mr R.J. Lupin as representative of the staff caused a wave of speculation to wash over the county. A repetition is afoot regarding the Viscountess, leaving us to wonder about their union’s origins and the secrets she may carry.

Intriguingly, the circumstances surrounding the Viscount's departure to London without his newly acquired wife have sparked speculation. As we delve into the intricacies of their relationship, questions arise about the foundation on which their bond rests. Whispers of Lord James’s late-night forays through London's streets have left room for conjecture, and the unconvincing visage of an unfaltering partnership seems to waver.

Comparisons naturally emerge between Lord James's present and his past. The fond recollections of his previous courtship with the captivating Miss Lily Evans remain alive in the collective memory. A sharp contrast arises as we ponder the choices that led him from the undying beauty of an English rose to a more obscure path. The allure of a foreign muse, who herself seems unversed in the customs of English society, only deepens the mystery.

As we continue to unravel the intricate threads of the Gryffindor union, a picture emerges that paints a landscape far from reputable. The motivations that bind this couple defy facile analysis, and society remains rife with speculation about Lord James’s character, intentions and fidelity, as well as the Viscountess’s motives, past, and purity. The truth of their connection –“

James folds the paper together and throws it to the next unoccupied table. He must instruct the staff not to show Regulus the local paper until the next issue is out. How dare any low-life journalist even question the Viscountess’s purity? How dare they talk like this about Regulus? He must agree that leaving his wife at home for two weeks while going to London with her two brothers isn’t a good look, but it still doesn’t give anyone the right to speculate like this.

James sighs deeply and looks at Regulus. His curls are in slight disarray from leaning against his seat and moving to find a good position to rest. He angled his knees, and his feet are intertwined with James’s legs at this point. He frowns even in his sleep.

James smiles at him and then turns to Sirius. He stares out the window, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He has been chewing on his bottom lip for the last hour, and it shows in angry red and white marks on it.

“Sirius, really, are you okay?”

Sirius shifts his eyes to him. “Hm?”

“Are you okay? You look upset.”

“I’m fine.” Sirius sits up straight and sighs. “I think I’ll go back to Paris tonight.”

“Tonight? I thought you wanted to stay until February – or even longer.”

“No. I should leave. I have things to do in France, maybe Spain… Algeria. You’re doing a marvellous job taking care of Regulus.”

“Thank you, but we still want you here, Sirius. Regulus misses his brother when you’re not around. I miss you, too.”

“You’re doing great. I need to go. Small towns like Lyopot make me depressed, you know this. It’s always the same things, the same streets, the same… people.”

“I thought you found it charming.”

“Yeah, not anymore.” He bites the inside of his cheek and looks at Regulus for a moment. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something regarding Regulus and your marriage. We’ll fake his death, and then I’ll take him elsewhere.”

“There’s no rush,” James assures him. He is having fun with Regulus around. He doesn’t want to give this up just yet. “Anyway, he liked London. If you have to whisk him away, he could move into Gryffindor House, and I could visit him.”

“Gryffindor House still belongs to your parents. How would you explain Regulus to them?”

James shrugs. “Let’s buy him a new house, then. The nicest in Belgrave Square.”

“I don’t know. I need a break from England. I think I’ll take him on a little world tour; show him India.”

“India? But that’s so far away.”

“Exactly,” he says tightly. “Let it be my problem. I’ll write to you once I have a decent plan.”

“There’s really no rush.”

“I’ve got time.”

“Still, really, stay calm. Regulus said we should wait a year before staging his death. So, September, earliest.”

“You got married in July.”

“Yes, but we came here in late August, so September.”

Sirius shakes his head. “Whatever. As long as he’s okay with it.”

“I’m sure he is.” James smiles and tips his feet against Regulus’s.

***

The following day, Sirius departs right after breakfast. Much to his dismay, he couldn’t get a quicker way from Lyopot to Paris.

Regulus isn’t sure what that was all about. He just knows that Sirius and Remus wouldn’t look at each other during dinner or breakfast. Regulus only asked once, and when Sirius deflected, he let him be.

After breakfast, Regulus and James sit down in the library. James has to go over correspondence with Remus. He cranes his neck in Regulus’ direction and complains that he will have to meet with his father and the agent of the estate soon. He doesn’t like the agent.

Regulus sits in the reading nook by the windows. He tries to write a letter. Usually, he does this in his own little office upstairs, but he wanted to listen to James’ business with the estate.

“I suppose that is all, my Lord,” Lupin says finally.

“Good. That is only the estate business. I wonder how Papa could do this and the other business things simultaneously. All the time.” James sighs loudly. “Oh, could you send Mr Rosier in?”

James gets up from his desk and joins Regulus by the window. Lupin leaves them alone.

“What do you want with Rosier?”

“Just information. What are you writing?”

Regulus shrugs and puts his ink pen away. “Just a letter to your mother. If you don’t like your agent, why don’t you hire a new one?”

“I’m not the Earl. I don’t own the estate. I don’t have the power to sack anyone. My father wants me to get accustomed to running everything. We worked together for the past couple of years. I make decisions about the estate, but they’re still all run by him.”

“When you become Earl, promise me you’ll sack him. He sounds like he isn’t doing a good job.”

James sighs. “I hope I’m not becoming Earl very soon. I don’t want my father to die. Why are you writing to my mother?”

When Regulus wants to answer, Rosier steps into the room.

“You asked to see me, my Lord?”

“Rosier, yes, come in. I gave you a job when we left. Has it been carried out?”

“Yes, my Lord. I’ve been going ‘round the pubs, spreading the grant love story. Most townsfolk believe it, I think. The Viscountess is very popular with the women now. Since barely anyone has seen her, she is fascinating and mysterious but in a way that makes people interested, not slandering.”

“Very good,” James smiles. “Although… are you sure no one is saying anything anymore? In the papers, for example?”

“Was there something in the paper?” Regulus asks. “You said it’s nothing with our name in it.”

“Yes, today. That is why I’m asking Mr Rosier.”

Regulus frowns. James is giving him a nervous little grin that spells out LIE across his face. Great, now Regulus will have to get his hands on old copies of the local paper.

“Well… the gossip column wasn’t as quiet as we hoped. I think most people believe my stories over the paper, but you never know, Sir.”

“What are they saying?” Regulus asks.

“That’s not important,” James says quickly. “Have you figured out who writes it by now?”

“Yes, my Lord. Poppy and I got to work on that. It appears, a certain Mr Snap or something is in charge over the column.”

“Snap?” James asks, confused. Then his eyes widen. “Do you mean Snape?”

Rosier shrugs. “Sorry, you might have to ask Poppy for the exact name. She wrote it down, I think.”

“Who is Snape?” Regulus asks.

“Just… a man who was sweet on Lily Evans. He hated me. He is to me what Lady Rowena is to you, so to say.”

“A cunt?”

Rosier chokes his laughter down and clears his throat. James gives him a look.

“I heard he wanted to go into journalism, but to end up with the gossip column of all things? I’d feel sorry for him if he wasn’t such a-“

“Cunt?”

“Two weeks in London, and you’re swearing like a sailor.”

“Only when it’s deserved. Mr Rosier, is that all?”

Rosier looks at him with a conflicted expression. He bites his lip and then straightens up. “Yes, that is all, my Lord.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Nothing happened that seems to have made an impact.”

Regulus frowns at him. “You will tell me when that changes, will you?”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“You may go.”

“Thank you.” Rosier quickly dashes out of the room.

Regulus shakes his head and takes the letter he was writing before up again.

“What was that about? Do you know something I don’t?”

“No. He just seemed nervous.” Regulus rereads the letter, then grabs his pen and signs it. “Here, cry on that.”

“What?”

Regulus gives him the letter. “Cry on it. You’re much more emotional than me.”

James carefully takes up the letter. “What is it about?”

“My miscarriage.”

James looks up at him, alarmed.

“Your mother thinks I’m pregnant. You know that. We have to let her know sooner than later that this is not the case. It’s the standard: It happened unexpectantly, we are sad but also optimistic blah blah blah.”

James presses his lips together. He pushes the letter away from him as if it paid him a personal insult.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to find someone else for that part. I have some things to talk through with Mrs McGonagall. I’ll see you later,” he says and gets up. The sudden mood change catches Regulus off guard, leaving him at a loss for words.

Regulus looks at the letter. There is nothing terrible in it, really. What upset James so much about it? Of course, it isn’t a pleasant topic, but this seemed excessive.

***

Hours later, Regulus decides to seek James out. He finds him in the drawing room, sitting on a sofa with a picture in a golden frame placed in front of him on the coffee table. He looks up when Regulus rounds the sofa to stand before him.

“Have you calmed down?” he asks. It comes out more accusatory than he wishes, but he isn’t sure what went wrong, and he hates that feeling. He doesn’t want James to be upset because of him. Never.

James slowly licks his lip and looks up at him.

“Will you at least tell me what I did wrong?”

James sighs lightly and scoots to the side on the sofa, signalling Regulus to sit.

“It’s just a very… loaded topic in my family. I don’t like you playing with their feelings.”

“I didn’t invent the lie. It was your mother-“

“You could have said no. …Regulus, I want to support you in everything you do. I want you to be who you are, and I want to make everything possible for you. But this is a thing that you can’t do. Okay? From all of your lies and all of the games that we must play, not this.”

Regulus looks away from him. Instead, he looks at the picture on the coffee table. It shows a baby. It’s an old photograph of an infant clad in white dresses, most likely for a christening.

“It is too late now, James. The lie is told, the story invented. I have to end it this way. …What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re right. It’s too late. You have to do it. …It, uhm…” James takes a shaky breath to recollect himself, “My mother will be distraught. I just hope she didn’t tell my grandmother about it. She once said that one more miscarriage in the family would kill her. And she is the kind of woman who likes to follow through.”

Regulus bites his lip. His chest feels tight. He wishes he could turn back time and tell James’ mother that she was wrong and there was no pregnancy.

He wishes James would have told him about any of this. Of course, Regulus recognised the signs in James’ mother. He thought there might have been miscarriages alone, given the fact that James is an only child, and Euphemia suddenly turned melancholy when talking about pregnancies but hopeful at the same time.

He didn’t care how the lie might affect her. He was selfish. He is selfish by nature – it is a family trait. His brother is selfish, too – except when it comes to him.

Regulus only thought it was a convenient lie. It could get him out of situations with the family, and he did not care to contemplate it further than that.

Now, he sits beside James with guilt, weighing him down and pressing him into the sofa cushions.

Regulus doesn’t apologise often. He hates apologising for things, even when he is wrong. It signals weakness. Another thing that runs in the family, instilled in them from a very young age onwards: When you apologise and admit that you are in the wrong, it’s because you’re weak, not because you were actually wrong. That is why they always had to beg their mother for forgiveness after she hit them.

But there possibly has never been a more adequate time than now. “I’m sorry, James. I am.”

James nods. “I believe you are. It’s not like you could have known. You see, my mother suffered many miscarriages and stillbirths over the course of fifteen years. Many before me, many after me. They tore her apart and made her depressed. After I was born, she was so terrified that she wouldn’t even give me to a nanny. She wouldn’t let me out of her sight. For the first three years, I had barely had any contact with anyone but her. She’d lock us into a room together for hours. She was terrified something would happen to me. So, of course, as soon as I was granted a bit more freedom as a child, like when Barty’s family came to visit, I did all the dangerous things – jumping off the stables and climbing up walls. She hated it.” He leans back into the sofa with a gentle smile of reminiscence.

“Most women in my family had a similar fate, women that married into the family as well as the ones who came out of it. Then, of course, my father’s sister died, and-” he stops. His mouth remains slightly parted, as if he didn’t mean to get this far in his story and suddenly realised he shouldn’t talk anymore.

Regulus looks at the photograph. “Is that you?”

“No.” He puts a pained smile on his lips. “No, that is my brother.”

“You had a brother?”

“Yes. Older brother, it’s… You understand why my mother was so very protective of me. He was the only one besides me who… you know, got into this word alive. He made it alive, and everyone was happy. They had grand celebrations. My parents were happy and in love. His christening was all over the local papers. He didn’t make it to his first birthday. My parents never told me what it was. Maybe a cough, maybe a fever, maybe just fate… I don’t know.”

“What was his name?”

“Harold. I know, it’s ghastly. Everyone called him Harry. I plan to name my son after him.”

“That’s a nice plan.”

“Yes, I think so, too. Provided that ever happens, of course.”

Regulus looks at his hands. “James… you do remember what I offered you, yes? You can have children with whomever you want to. You can love someone, be with someone, have a child, and I will make sure to pretend it is mine for a while so it can be your heir legitimate. Of course, not fully. I would not take the child away from its mother … if she treats it right, that is. You do remember that, right?”

“Of course, I remember. I just… I don’t think I would. I think children should be born out of love between spouses.”

“How very romantic of you.”

“Yes. I do realise that most marriages are out of convenience or for reasons of money and titles, and most children are born to continue dynasties. I don’t want that. I want to meet a person, and I want to fall in love. I want to be in love, and I want to marry because we’re in love, and I want a child to complete our lives. Maybe it is an impractical fantasy in my position, but… I like it.”

“It is very impractical, especially in your position. …but it’s very you. So, I shall like it.”

James chuckles and shakes his head. Regulus loves to see him laugh. His face brightens up even after he was so upset a moment ago. And if Regulus makes him upset, which is bound to happen with a character like his, at least he can make him laugh afterwards. That makes it better.

“I will have to post the letter, James.”

“I know.”

Regulus sighs and leans his head against James’ shoulder. “I have many faults. I know that. But it is never my intention to hurt you.”

“I know,” he whispers.

“Good. I need you to be sure of it. I don’t want to repay your kindness and generosity with a tarnished name and tears. Everything I do, I do for your benefit. …Or at least that is what I’m telling myself.”

“What do you mean?”

Regulus thinks back to the gallery in London and his deal with the curator and the art dealer regarding Lily Evans’s future.

“Let’s just say, time will tell. I do hope it was the right thing.”

“You are strange, Regulus Black.”

“Is that a novelty? Shouldn’t you know that by now?”

“I know it. And I very much appreciate it. I can’t have one more boring thing in my life. I might fall into a coma.”

Regulus looks up at him. They lock eyes for a moment.

James’ glasses are freshly cleaned, so much so that Regulus can see his mirror image in them. The rim is gold and shiny. His brown eyes behind them are beautifully warm like sunlight, which he misses so much in the dead of winter. He looks devastatingly handsome. The irresistible appearance paired with an undeniable kindness – how is it possible that this man is not loved by all? How is it possible that he, out of all the people who must be willing to give him senseless devotion, married his best friend’s brother out of kindness?

Truly, Regulus would never purposefully hurt him. That he has hurt him with a little lie about a pregnancy weighs hard on him, and he is afraid it will do so for a while.

“Sirius wants to take you away from me,” James whispers suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“He has talked about faking your death and taking you across the globe… to India. It’s so far away.”

“What am I supposed to do in India?”

“I don’t know. Be away from anyone who knows you as his sister, I guess. …I don’t want you to go further from me than London.”

Regulus isn’t sure whether he imagined it or James’ voice trembled the faintest bit when he said this. He can hear his heart beating in his chest.

“London isn’t terribly far.”

“Exactly. No matter what may come, I’d truly hate it if you were to vanish from my life, Regulus.”

James’ face seems closer than he realised before. Regulus’ eyes fall to James’ lips.

“I’d hate it, too.”

James smiles, and Regulus must call on all of his senses not to lean in and kiss him like a madman. He wants to, though. And he is so close, just within reach.

James turns back to the photograph, breaking the spell between them.

“I should take this back to where it belongs. It is not good to dwell on the past too much. It makes you broody and unloving.” He gets up and picks up the photograph to place it with the others. “I expected my mother to take it with her.”

The family placed carefully selected photographs in golden and silver frames near one of the windows, flanked by vases always filled with freshly cut seasonal flowers from their gardens.

“But she said Harry was born in this house and died in this house, so his photograph should remain here, forever, among his family and his brother. I do think she has another one, though. It would be terribly sad if not.”

Regulus’ mind is still preoccupied with thoughts of lips and kisses and golden-rimmed glasses getting in the way.

“Yes.” Regulus clears his throat. “Yes, she hopefully has one. I should, uhm, I should post the letter. Maybe I’ll rewrite it.”

“Okay.”

Regulus nods and quickly gets up, hoping that he doesn’t look too shaken. He goes up to his office to rewrite the letter.

***

Of each person Remus holds dear, he owns exactly one picture.

He has one picture of his mother as a young wife and one picture of his father, a little older, with himself next to him, age 13 and about to leave for London to work there.

He has one picture of Sirius. He sent it from Paris a year ago when they hadn’t seen each other for months, and every passing day without lying eyes on him felt like being pulled by his hands and feet in opposite directions.

Remus keeps the picture in a drawer of his bedside table inside a French book Sirius gifted him before realising that Remus doesn’t actually understand French and just smiles and kisses him whenever Sirius speaks it.

Sirius’ French accent is more subtle than Regulus’s, who, when agitated, is almost incomprehensible – especially when he slips into full angry French at times. Sirius sometimes spoke French to him late in the evening when he couldn’t be bothered to speak the “bastard child of us and the Germans” anymore. He called him sweet things Remus didn’t need translations for. Remus honestly regrets telling Sirius he doesn’t understand French because he has stopped doing it ever since.

The last few days have been terribly lonely. Sirius didn’t even look at him once since his midnight confession in London. He changed his plans in a hurry and left England as soon as possible.

Remus didn’t mean for this to happen. He didn’t want to lose Sirius. He didn’t want to chase him away.

But what was he supposed to do with that mad midnight confession? What does Sirius even know of love? He was drunk and out of his mind with no regard for his words.

Sirius Black loves Remus Lupin.

He has never heard a more cruel joke. As a principle, the thing is impossible.

Fenrir was right. Love does not exist, at least not for the likes of Remus. His falling in love causes an injury to the nation so grave that he must be locked away. He would have been hanged for it at the beginning of the century. And all of that for what? What has the illusion of love ever given him?

There is no room for it in his life. There is no point to it either.

Assume it does exist. Assume Sirius’ heart has his name carved into it – what is to come of it? Sirius is fickle. Remus won’t hold his attention for long. And even if – even if Sirius loved him to the end of his days, there would be no sense in it. It wouldn’t change anything. It would still be illegal. It would still be impossible. Remus would still be a butler for James, and Sirius would be a French noble. They won’t run off into the sun together. Their lives are decided. The only reasonable thing that could ever come of Sirius’ emotion is pain. It is the only change that is certain.

Love is for the upper classes. It is for those who have nothing to lose.

Love wasn’t invented for the likes of Remus. It surely wasn’t invented to breach classes. It is a fantasy for playwrights to get rich. It is a nuisance children employ to drive their parents mad. It is the trick men use to slip into unmarried women’s beds.

It is many things, but it is nothing Remus can have in his life.

He looks at Sirius’ picture, his perfect proportions, mesmerising eyes, and the hair that looks almost as soft as it feels. He touches the scars on his face.

Above all, love is nothing Sirius Black could ever feel for Remus Lupin.

And after all, the illusion of love has destroyed Remus’ life not once but twice.

But if nothing of it is real, if Remus realised what a scam it all is, then why does his chest feel like it was cut open and eviscerated ever since Sirius left his room that night?

***

Chapter Text

"Though your sins be as scarlet, yet I will make them as white as snow" The Picture of Dorian Gray 189

February has always struck James as a weird month. It seems like the trickster month of the year. It is randomly shorter than the rest, and every other year decides to be one day longer than usual for absolutely no comprehensible reason. It’s utter madness. James appreciates a certain level of madness, but February is a special kind of nutcase. The weirdest things tend to happen in this month:

When he was seven years old, he lost his stuffed deer toy on the 1^st of February and only found it again on the 29^th.

When he was 11, their entire Manor became the dream destination of every owl living in England for the whole second week of February.

When he was 14, he was absolutely convinced a ghost lived in the Manor. It appeared every day for 28 days straight. Then he vanished. And on the 1^st of February the following year, he saw him again. This continued until he was 18. He calls the ghost Peeves and considers him a friend, although he continuously got him into trouble by playing pranks on the servants and his parents.

A few years ago, Sirius was staying during February. Their rooms were next to each other (James insisted on it), and he heard frightful moaning from his room every other night. When James asked him about it, Sirius had no idea what that noise could have been.

The tradition of weird Februarys continues this year when, over breakfast, Regulus opens a few letters and declares:

“Bartemius Crouch wants to come for a visit.”

“The Baron?”

“His son.”

“Barty? What does he want?”

“It doesn’t say. Just that he will be one town over and would like to meet me and stay for dinner next week.”

James frowns. Barty wants to see Regulus, huh? James can imagine what for. “Can you say no?”

“It doesn’t say how I could reach him. Besides, I don’t dislike his company enough to turn down one afternoon and a dinner.”

Why not? What does Barty want from Regulus? Nothing good that is certain. That man would try to sneak a peek under Regulus’ skirts just to give James a detailed report with that sly grin of his afterwards.

He only comes to flirt and seduce Regulus. James knows it.

“We can always turn him away on our doorstep.”

“And why would we do that?”

“Because... you’d have to dress up as a woman to receive him, and you hate that.”

“How very selfless of you. I’ll survive it for one dinner. I do enjoy his company.”

“Why? He just flirts with you and tries to make me look bad.”

Regulus smiles at him mysteriously as if James is missing something.

“Just be careful. I know that he will try something unseemly. In fact, I’d like to stay with you when you receive him.”

“As a chaperone?”

“You don’t need a chaperone because he doesn’t court you, and you are not free to be courted.”

Regulus gives him that little one-corner smile again and carefully folds the latter back together. “Lupin, tell Poppy we will have a guest next Thursday. She shall plan accordingly. And tell Rosier he will have to pick Mr Crouch up from the station.”

“Certainly, my Lord,” Lupin says with a nod.

“Can’t the man walk? Or get a Hansom cab?” James mutters.

“He requests Mr Rosier.”

“He’s taking advantage of your kindness, Regulus.”

Regulus frowns at him. “I have been called many odd things in my day, James. Kind hasn’t been one of them. You can’t take advantage of things that are non-existent like good manners in America or Lupin’s will to live.”

James turns to Remus, who looks back at him with a look spelling, “Why me?”

“Still, I don’t trust Barty, and I doubt he has good intentions with his wish to see you.”

“We can agree on that. Still, I’ll receive him and keep him for dinner.” He puts the letters away and refills his coffee. “What are your plans today?”

“I’m meeting with the agent. We have to look at one of the farms on the other side of the hill. The tenants have been complaining about bad maintenance on the farmhouse.”

“Is your father to come?”

“No, which greatly annoys the agent.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Why? It’s boring, and he is a notoriously unpleasant man. I don’t even want to go.”

“I have little else to do, and I wouldn’t mind learning some things about the estate and how everything is run.”

Sometimes, this man truly is a mystery. At least, his presence may add some enjoyment to the meeting. “Sure, come with me. As Regulus or the Viscountess?”

“Depends, how old is he, and how often will the Viscountess have to receive him?”

“Old and not often, I think. I tend not to invite people I don’t like for dinner.”

“Then I can go as I am. When is the meeting set?”

“Two-thirty.”

“Good. Lupin, I’ll write some letters for London. Could you wait before you post the mail for today until I hand them to you?”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Regulus nods at the men, takes his various letters and leaves the breakfast room.

James sighs and turns to Remus. “You do have a will to live, right?”

“Somewhere, surely, my Lord.”

James hums. Cryptic bastard.

After a few silent minutes, Remus clears his throat. “If I may ask, has there been any correspondence from Lord Black?”

“Nothing in the post today, no telegrams either. I’m also not expecting anything. He left only a few days ago. Why are you asking?”

“No particular reason. …He just left so unexpectedly quick.”

“Oh, you know how he is. As much as he loves Lioncrest and Regulus, he can’t stand the countryside for long. He said he needed a break from the scenery and people. Said he’d go south to Spain and Algeria.”

“Algeria?” Remus sounds uncharacteristically aghast at the thought. “In Africa? That’s… far.”

“Yes, I think his family owns land there, cultivating olives or something. I don’t know. I’ve never been to Algeria. He doesn’t like going there either, actually. He was in a strange mood ever since we left London. I wonder what happened to chase him to a different continent.”

Remus says nothing to that. When James leaves the breakfast room, he could swear Remus looks close to tears, but he denies it upon being asked.

***

The next bizarre thing to happen this February takes the form of Miss Lily Evans in James’ sitting room.

“Lily?” James asks when he joins her. “What are you doing here?”

Lily, who is gazing at the four Arcimboldos on the wall, turns to him. “Hello, James. I hope I’m not an inconvenience. I know I should have announced myself, but I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to come.”

James looks at her, confused. He hasn’t heard from her since the confrontation last year. “No, you’re never an inconvenience. Sit, please. Shall I call for tea?”

“No need, I won’t stay long,” she says and sits down on one of the sofas. James sits opposite her. “You took down my picture.”

James looks past her at the wall. “Yes, no, actually. Not me.”

“Your wife, then?”

James slowly begins to detest talking about Regulus as his wife. There is a wife and Viscountess persona Regulus sometimes has to take on, but they’re not the same person as him. “Probably. I think your last visit was upsetting to my spouse. I don’t know where the picture is, actually.”

“I’m sorry about that. Your sudden marriage was quite the shock, that is all.”

James bites his lip. “Did you come for a specific reason?”

“Right. Yes. I want to say Goodbye.”

“Goodbye?”

“Yes, I am to depart to London on the morrow.”

“London? What are you doing there? Are you going alone? Where will you stay?”

“My father accompanies me. I got a strange offer from a man in London. He is connected to the Art scene and has a very good reputation. He says he can get me connected and exhibited. I could be a genuine painter, but I must go to London and take this chance.”

James looks at her for a moment, then down at his hands. He doesn’t quite know how to feel. He is happy for her. She should be successful in her life, and she deserves all the fame in the world. But his stomach has tied itself in knots at the thought of losing her for good. He wants to say he has given up on her romance, but to have her leave town and never get the chance of a friendship again? It tears at the scars where Lily shattered his heart.

He swallows heavily. “I’m happy for you. You deserve it.”

“Thank you. I’m honestly so excited. I am scared to leave Lyopot, of course, but the city offers so many more opportunities for work and rights for women. I could meet others who think like me and want to change politics and fight for voting rights – all that while I can sell my paintings.”

“Sounds like a dream.” He forces a smile on his face.

“I know. I honestly don’t know how it came to be, but it may be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“You’ll make the best of it, I’m sure.”

She smiles warmly at him. “See, I wanted to thank you, James. You never gave up on me and my talent. You always supported me and my art. Without you in my life, I don’t think I would have thought myself capable of this.”

James looks up at her. She is an extraordinary woman. She is capable of absolutely everything she puts her mind to. James is sure of this. That he is the one to make her believe it is at least a small consolation.

“And I feel terrible about the things I said. You had all the right in the world to marry someone else. I hope she makes you happy, truly. I hope she makes you the happiest man on earth and gives you everything you wish for. I was just upset because… well, many reasons. I shall not speak of most of them out of respect for your marriage. But one thing that really agitated me that day, in particular, was that while barely any other men dared to talk to me because they thought me to be yours, Severus paid me a visit to tell me about your marriage. He promptly proposed in the same breath, although I’ve told him many times he is just a friend. Then he got harsh with me.” She presses her lips together for a moment as if the memory pained her.

“Severus Snape?” James asks. “Did you know he writes for the gossip column in the paper?”

“He does what?”

“He’s been slandering me and the Viscountess for weeks. My spouse wanted to guillotine the author. I told the servants not to buy any wood or metal and not to assist in any building projects. We recently found out it was Snape who wrote it, and if my spouse wasn’t preoccupied at that moment, I’m sure there would have been a manhunt and cut-off fingers.”

She looks at him with a horrified expression. “Pardon?”

James just looks at her calmly.

“You were joking, right?”

He keeps looking straight at her.

“Right?”

“Should you see him before you depart, be so kind and tell him to stop inventing nonsense. If he is fond of his fingers, that is.”

She blinks rapidly at him. “I… will. You married a scary person.”

James smiles lightly. “Yes, I did. I like it. And really, I’m happy for you. I’m sad to see you go, but I’m happy for you.”  

“I’m happy for you, too. You are very protective of her, so you must be very fond of her.”

“I am.”

She nods gently. “I should go. I would have liked to meet your wife before I leave.”

“I’m afraid that is impossible. My spouse is… sick and mustn’t exert herself.”

“Of course. Give her my regards, though… and my apology.”

“I will.”

She smiles at him and rises.

“James,” she says when she reaches the door. James still sits on the sofa. He isn’t entirely certain his legs are able to support himself just yet. “I want you to know it was never you.”

He looks at her, confused.

“My reasons for turning you down. The first time, I didn’t like you a lot, and I could never see myself as your wife. Later, … it wasn’t you. I hope you know that you are far from unlovable. I hope the person upstairs knows to appreciate you.” And with that, she leaves the sitting room.

James sits in silence for a little eternity, pushing her words around in his head.

Eventually, he forces himself up and wanders aimlessly through the manor until he finally finds Regulus. He is downstairs in the kitchens. The servants rise and straighten up when James descends the stairs.

Regulus is oblivious to him, standing in the kitchen, holding a cat in his arms that strays around the manor sometimes, and going over the dinner plans with Poppy for when Barty comes to visit them on Thursday. He rubs the fur of the cat and scratches it behind its ears while listening to Poppy’s suggestions.

James is very fond of him, indeed. And he likes to think that Regulus appreciates him. That is enough. He doesn’t need romance just now. He needs Regulus and shared amusement.

Regulus finally notices him. “James, what are you doing down here?”

He shrugs. “Looking for you.”

“Anything in particular? We are almost finished.”

James shakes his head. He wants his company, but he can wait until he has time.

Regulus finishes his conversation with Poppy and reluctantly puts the cat on the ground before going back upstairs with James.

“Lily came by,” he says unprompted when they sit in the drawing room.

“Lily Evans?”

“Yes.”

He looks at him for a moment, then stands up to pull on a cord that rings a bell downstairs to alert the servants. He asks for tea when Lupin comes in.

“What did she want?” Regulus asks finally and sits down next to him.

“Say goodbye. She is going to London.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. Apparently, a man with connections to the art scene contacted her. With a bit of luck, she will be a famous artist soon.”

“Good for her.”

James hums. Lupin comes in and serves the tea.

“Are you displeased with the development?” Regulus asks.

“I don’t know. I’m happy for her. And I don’t entertain the delusion that she could love me the way I want her to any longer. I think she insinuated that she did love me, or does love me, I don’t know…”

Regulus looks down into his tea. He always insists on an unholy amount of sugar in there. “Isn’t it better this way? You said you tried to get past your affection for her. Now, she is out of reach for good.”

“Maybe,” James mumbles. “No, you’re right. I need to concentrate on other things, other people. It just feels so final now.”

Regulus gently stirs his tea. “The sooner we free ourselves from our silly admirations, the better. The longer you allow yourself to lose yourself in delusions of love and shared futures, the harder it will be to say goodbye to them.”

James frowns into his tea. What does Regulus know about this kind of thing? He said there never was a person like that for him in France. Neither Sirius nor Regulus seem inclined to focus their attention and adoration on one person in particular. James doesn’t believe that either of them is the best person to take romantic advice from.

“Have you ever loved someone, although you knew it was pointless?”

He looks up at him when he doesn’t get an answer right away and finds Regulus looking back at him.

“Maybe,” he says quietly, “I can’t be entirely sure that it is love. But I fear I will be damned should it ever go that far.”

Is? Will? Is this a current feeling? Is he infatuated with someone in this house? Someone he met here in England? Regulus couldn’t have possibly caught feelings for one of the servants, right? It is not that James wishes to stop Regulus from being happy or in love, but he needs to be loved correctly. James simply can’t think of a single person he’d entrust with Regulus’ happiness.

What if it’s Barty? Impossible. Not Barty. What could Regulus possibly see in him? They’ve only met for the Christmas celebrations. Could Regulus have fallen in love with him?

James couldn’t bear losing his friendship with Regulus because of a romance between him and Barty.

Regulus clears his throat and stands up. “I will finish this upstairs. I have a letter to write.”

James watches him leave the drawing room with his tea. He sighs deeply and leans back into the couch.

“Remus, do you think Regulus is in love with Barty?”

Remus frowns at him.

“Did you listen to what he just said? Pointless romances? Do you think it’s Barty?”

Remus frowns even deeper. He lets out an exasperated sigh. “No. I do not think it is Barty.”

“Who then? One of the servants?”

Remus clicks his tongue. “May I speak as a friend?”

“Of course, always.”

Remus nods. “Are you daft?”

“What?”

“Why would he mean Barty or a Servant?”

“I don’t know. Who else is there?”

“Who else-“ Remus pushes his hands over his face. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is pointless. Then again, all romance is pointless by nature, don’t you agree?”

“No, I don’t agree. What has got into you? Why would you say such a thing? I know you are a cynic by nature, but that is a bit drastic. Do you really believe that there is no point in love?”

“It has recently been brought to my attention that love does, in fact, not exist.”

“What?” James looks at him horrified. “Where did you get that from?”

“At least it doesn’t exist for the lower classes. It exists for you, I imagine. It exists for rich Lords and owners of estates and wealth beyond measure who can take their pick from the litter of beautiful young ladies. For everyone else to try getting a grand love story is utter madness.”

“You don’t mean that. What happened, Remus?”

“Nothing. I just woke up from a lovely dream and was reacquainted with life’s harsh reality. You wouldn’t get it. You are a dreamer. And you are in a position where you can afford to be a dreamer. I can’t. Lord Regulus can’t. Not even Lily can. Not Sirius either.”

“I refuse to believe that,” James exclaims and stands up. “So, you can’t marry and must live in secret outside of this house. Okay. It is horribly unfair, I know. But being in love and being loved back is not an impossibility, and you must stop letting your cynicism ruin your life. And you better refrain from putting such nonsense in anyone’s head. I don’t know what happened to make you talk like this, and I hope you will tell me when you need to, but please stop convincing yourself of this until then.”

James looks at him, waiting for an answer. He knows Remus won’t confide in him just yet. He was behaving strangely in London and has been in a bad mood since they got back, but there is no point in forcing Remus to talk about his feelings. James has tried often, and it only makes Remus retract even more.

“My apologies, my Lord,” Remus says with biting neutrality.

“Oh, don’t my Lord me. Just… please, talk to me when you’re ready.” After waiting another silent minute, James leaves the drawing room.

***

On Thursday, Evan Rosier storms into the library in search of James and Regulus.

James is pacing the library, going on and on about his favourite childhood stories his mother read to him when he was younger. Regulus turned it into a test of self-restraint for himself. He tries not to laugh or smile or make disgusting heart eyes at the man while he recounts in great detail the story of a man who tried to learn to be afraid. Regulus barely remembers how they got to this point. It started with Regulus finding a fairytale book on one of the shelves and James being astounded that he can read German.

“So, when that wouldn’t help either, he took the dead man out of the casket and sat down at the fire, trying to warm him.”

“That is disgusting,” Regulus remarks, pushing his amusement down as James kneels down by the low table and warms his hands on an imaginary fire like a child.

“Just you wait. So, he rubs the man’s arms and hands, and he does get warmer, but not enough. Then the boy remembers that when two people lie in bed next to each other, they shall warm each other. He carries the man to bed and cuddles up to him.”

“To the corpse?”

James laughs and jumps on the couch to press his shoulder against Regulus’s. “Yes! They were this close. Or closer even.”

“What then? Did they kiss?” Regulus is losing at his own game.

“No. But the corpse got as warm as a living person and then started moving.” James moves his fingers in front of Regulus’ face like a German witch. “And then – he tried to choke him!” James pushes against Regulus, reaching for his neck. Regulus draws back in surprise, which prompts James to lose himself in a laughing fit. Of course, he wouldn’t actually attack Regulus. He leans his forehead against Regulus’ shoulder, yapping in laughter.

“It wasn’t that funny.”

“Yes, it was, Reggie. I made you jump.” He looks up at him with a wide grin reaching up to his eyes. His glasses are crooked. Regulus reaches out to straighten them. James’ eyes are trained on his face, shining like the only candles in the dead of night.

That is when Rosier comes into the room. “My Lord, I need to speak with you!” He stops abruptly when he sees James and Regulus on the sofa.

Regulus sits up straight, but James doesn’t bother to put distance between them.

“My apologies for storming in, but – there is something I need to say.”

“Then say it,” James says simply and finally removes his head from Regulus’ shoulder.

Rosier clears his throat. “I have a confession to make. I have to pick up Mr Crouch from the station in a while, and I cannot do that before saying it. I like to think myself loyal to good employers.”

“Thank you,” James says.

“I meant Lord Regulus.”

“Are you going to get to the confessing part of this?” Regulus asks, making himself not smile about the look on James’ face.

“While you were in London, I met Mr Crouch in the Pot.”

“My condolences,” James mutters.

“I don’t know whether Lupin has told you already, but Mr Crouch and I were… involved.”

Regulus looks at him, surprised. “You and Barty Crouch?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And Lupin knows this?” James asks. “He didn’t say a word to me about it.”

“Why would he?” Regulus turns back to Rosier. “Continue.”

“So, we were involved in the past, and when we met in the Pot, we came up to Lioncrest to… talk.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow at the man.

“You understand what I mean.”

“Yes, and I fail to see how this concerns me. I have no interest in any ‘involvement’ with Barty, so I don’t care who he is ‘involved’ with.”

“I’m getting to that point.”

“Slowly. I’ve never seen you nervous before. I didn’t think you were capable of it, to be honest. Are you trying to tell us that you let Crouch into the manor to get involved in the library?”

“What?” James exclaims.

“Drawing room,” Rosier corrects him.

“What?” James exclaims louder. “You let Barty Crouch into my home while I was away? I can barely tolerate him here while he is supervised!”

Rosier looks at James, obviously biting back a comment, then looks at Regulus again. “I fell asleep at some point, and when I woke up, Barty was gone. I found him after a while…”

A horrible suspicion sneaks up on Regulus now. “Where?”

Rosier swallows visibly.

“Where, Rosier?”

“Your bedroom.”

“You’re fired,” James says instantly.

“My bedroom? What was he doing there?”

“Looking through your things, I’m afraid. I swear, I immediately pulled him out and threw him out on the streets. I hoped he’d freeze to death, but apparently, that wasn’t the case.”

“Does he know about me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are so fired,” James repeats, now angrily pacing the library. “No good reference, no nothing. I want you out of the cottage by-“

“Calme-toi, James.”

“What do you mean, calm yourself? He let Barty Crouch into our home with the effect that he broke into your bedroom. Now it makes sense why he wants to come here: He wants to blackmail you!”

“Most likely, yes. Rosier, pick up Mr Crouch from the station when he is set to arrive. Don’t tell him you told us. If someone fires you, it will be me, and I will decide that later.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Rosier clenches his jaw and leaves the library.

James joins him on the sofa again. “We are still going to receive him?”

“It just occurred to me that we don’t have a choice. Either way, leave the matter to me. I will find out what he knows, and then I will deal with it.” His brain starts spitting out plan after plan by the second.

“He is evil, Regulus. When he knows about you, he won’t hesitate to tell everyone under the sun if we don’t meet his conditions.” He takes Regulus’ hand in his. “I don’t even want to imagine all the heinous things he could ask of us. If we’re lucky, it’s money. He took a liking to your looks; what if he demands-“

“I will deal with it. Trust me.”

“I-“

“James. He won’t have a chance to drag your good name through the mud. I won’t let him.”

James slowly shakes his head and locks his hand in both of his palms. “I don’t care about my name. I care about you. I won’t let that beast blackmail you, not for money or anything.”

Regulus’ body tingles at James’ words. His care and kindness are truly his best traits, and they make Regulus shiver. He calls on himself to calm down. He mustn’t lose himself in his adoration. He keeps telling himself so, and yet, he can’t seem to stop.

“It will be okay. Just trust me. I’ll go upstairs and change. We’ll receive him in the drawing room and act oblivious. Especially you. We’ll let him say what he thinks he knows and listen to his conditions, then we’ll see. Okay?”

James hesitates. “Okay. But I won’t leave you alone with him for even a second.”

Regulus smiles and pulls his hand back. He stands up to go upstairs to be turned into the Viscountess by Pandora. “Does he learn fear at the end of the fairytale?” Regulus asks before he leaves.

“Huh? Yes. Yes, of course. He is allowed to marry the princess after breaking the curse of the castle. In the version, my mother always told me, he learns what it means to be afraid when he wants to tell the princess how in love with her he is.”

Regulus hums. Relatable, he thinks and hates himself for it.

Regulus distracts himself from his own discomfort by focusing on James. They sit next to each other on a sofa in one of the lesser sitting rooms. It is a statement.

Gideon, the footman, brought tea a minute ago. James is muttering curses under his breath, shifting and scooting around on the sofa. It would drive Regulus mad if it wasn’t a good distraction from the feeling of leeches all over his body. He shakes out his hand, which prompts James to interlace their fingers.

“I promise I’ll pay every amount of money he asks to keep you safe,” James whispers.

“You know my stance on blackmail. You pay him once; you’ll pay him forever. Let me handle it.”

“Can I at least hit him?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Have you ever hit anyone in your life?” Regulus doubts James is capable of it. He is too kind to hit anyone.

Lupin opens the door and steps in. “The Honourable Bartemius Crouch,” he announces, and Barty walks into the room.

Someone evidentially beat James to it. Barty’s jacket is dusty, he has a small cut on his cheek and a wound on his eye that promises to blossom into a bruise.

Regulus will not fire Rosier.

“Mr Crouch, what happened to your face? Nothing bad, I hope,” Regulus asks.

The man brushes off his jacket. “I fell.”

“On your face?” James asks with a gleeful tone. “I shall express my condolences to the ground.”

Regulus motions to Gideon to serve tea. “So, what brings you here?”

“I was hoping I could speak alone with you, actually.”

“Keep hoping.”

“I’m afraid my husband isn’t fond of the idea. You must tell us both what brings you here. Have some tea.”

Barty leans back on the sofa with a smug grin on his face. “I see. Rosier told you about our little tryst in the drawing room, did he?”

“You are smarter than you let on.”

Barty reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small object he places on the coffee table. It is a shiny emerald brooch that cousin Narcissa gave Regulus on his 16^th birthday. Regulus likes the thing but didn’t even notice it missing. He only wears it on special occasions. “I would still like to speak with you in private.”

Regulus turns to Gideon and Lupin. “Would you leave us alone, please?” He waits for the men to leave the room before looking at Barty again. “Why don’t you tell us what other interesting things you found while rifling through my rooms like a common thief?”

“Gladly. I found an abundance of men’s clothing, although you don’t share a room with each other, much less a dressing room. I also heard a rumour that the lovely Viscountess stayed at Lioncrest while James went to London with her two brothers. You only have one, as far as I am informed.”

“Maybe you are misinformed.”

“I don’t think so, my dear. Trust me when I say I have made an effort to inform myself of you in excruciating detail.”

James growls lowly.

“Why don’t you go ahead and tell me your theories? I’m intrigued to hear your interpretation of your findings.”

“There are only two options here, are there? Either you are born a man and dress up as a woman. Or you are born a woman and dress up as a man. Given that the Viscountess is rarely seen, and it was you ‘brother’ who was taken to London, I will guess that you prefer your male persona either way.”

Regulus forces his body into complete neutrality; not even a twitch will give him away. James is evidently less experienced in containing himself. He has reached for Regulus’ hand again, pressing his fingers deeply into his skin.

“Do you have proof for this insanity?”

Barty chuckles. “It’s not insanity, is it? I mean, considering who you married, it may be the only logical explanation for this union.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” James mutters.

“I simply mean that it is known to anyone who cares enough to look that you favour employing anyone who breaks nonsensical laws by existing, like your coachman or the butler.” Barty shrugs. “Also, you are not good enough for your spouse, of course.”

“But you fancy yourself good enough even to breathe the same air as my spouse? And now you come in here trying to blackmail us?” James scoffs.

“Who says I’m here to blackmail you?”

“What else brings you here?”

Barty smiles at Regulus. “You see, I’d like to discuss that in private. Because no matter what I say, our dear James will curse me to the heavens and throw me out.”

“Damn right, I will.”

“James, could you leave us alone?” Regulus asks. Barty won’t get on with his demands like this, and Regulus is losing patience. He has multiple plans at the ready to deal with this man, and none involve James. The less he knows, the better.

“No, absolutely not.”

“James. Trust me.”

He looks at him for a moment. Finally, he sighs and gets up.

“Yes, James, leave us alone. Your spouse favours my company anyway,” Barty says smugly. “But don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. The dress won’t be damaged.”

In a sudden burst of movement, James throws himself on Barty, draws back his fist and punches him in the face.

Regulus stares at the men in shock. James pulls Barty from the sofa to hit him again. Regulus still doesn’t know whether James has ever done this before in his life, but he is undoubtedly determined to beat the smugness out of the man right now.

Regulus just stares at James. This probably shouldn’t be as attractive to Regulus as it is. He knew James was protective, but he didn’t expect him – kind, funny, sunshine Jamie – to get physical to defend him. At any rate, Regulus has no interest in stopping this apart from getting uncomfortably hot in his dress.

“Stop, stop, you fucking idiot!” Barty pushes against James. “It was just a joke!”

“Maybe I should cut off your cock as a joke,” James growls.

Lord have mercy, Regulus thinks to himself. He looks away from the man rolling and kicking each other on the ground to regain his countenance.

“James, that’s enough. I think you made your point.”

“Yeah, James, get off me.”

James holds Barty by his cravat, staring down at him. “I swear, you touch him, and you are dead.”

A minute ago, Regulus would have never believed it if he heard him say this, but now it seems a genuine possibility. He shouldn’t enjoy the thought as much as he does, really. He considers himself the dangerous, crazy one in this relationship and James the sweet and caring one. They should each stay in their area of expertise.

James lets go of Barty and stands up, not without placing his knee on his chest and pushing down.

“Wait outside, James. I promise I’ll call you when I need to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

James nods and glares at Barty again before leaving the drawing room.

Barty coughs heavily and rolls his head to the side to look at Regulus. “You must have enjoyed that a lot.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re blushing.” He pushes himself up and stumbles to the sofa to fling himself down next to Regulus. “Your face is so red you look like he slapped you, not me.”

Regulus leaves this uncommented for his own sake.

Barty reaches for the cup of tea that was left untouched by James. “Did you poison this one, too, or can I drink it?”

“What makes you think I poisoned anything?”

He looks at him over the rim of the cup. “Intuition, my dear.”

Regulus hums and gently takes the cup from him before he can drink. A maid with an extensive knowledge of herbs and poisons does come in handy at times.

“Do you hate me so much? I thought we left on good terms after New Year's.”

“That was before I was informed you broke into my bedroom. You still haven’t named a bit of proof you have for your allegations.”

“What do I need proof for? Rumours are enough these days.”

In a split second, Regulus pulls a knife from a fold in his dress and presses the tip under Barty’s chin.

“Careful dear, now you’re making me blush. You can stop trying to kill me. I have no interest in telling anyone about this.”

“Why do I find this hard to believe?”

“Because you are mistrusting by nature?”

“And you’re not improving that.”

Barty smiles. “I came to ask a favour. I went through your stuff for two reasons. One, I knew I needed a favour, and James would rather hold his breath until he suffocated himself than help me. I thought if I found any dirt on either of you, he’d be inclined to be a little bit more helpful. I was wrong. It happens. Rarely, but it happens.”

“And the second reason?”

He shrugs. “I find you intriguing. I found you to be the most interesting person I’ve ever laid eyes on the second we met. I knew there was something about you. You’re not just some little French woman that Lord James Potter randomly falls in love with while visiting that stupid friend of his. I didn’t know what it was. Now, I think I know. And it makes you all the more worth knowing.”

“Does it?” Regulus asks, unimpressed.

“Very much so. I promise I don’t mean you any harm.”

“You just said I’m mistrusting by nature. Why should I believe a word you say?”

“We all must learn to trust someone, don’t we?”

“You’re at the bottom of the list of candidates.”

“Ouch. But understandable. How about this: You listen to what favour I want, and then you can decide whether or not this whole thing is dramatic enough to kill me.”

Regulus slowly removes the knife from Barty’s face. “Talk.”

Barty sighs deeply. “You see, I find myself in a bit of a predicament. My father hates me to the bone, which is mutual. I constantly work to embarrass and infuriate him – with great success. It seems he finally hit his breaking point.”

“Did he disinherit you?”

“No, he wouldn’t go that far. My mother wouldn’t let him. But I am banned from our house, was evicted from my flat, and cut off from our money. And, as it turns out, I am an unlikeable piece of shit. I find myself with no friends and no man willing to help me and give me shelter. I came to Lyopot to see Rosier, hoping I could stay in his cottage until I figured things out. Needless to say, I messed that up.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “I’ve been living on my last savings for the last few weeks. I’m not here to blackmail you. I don’t come for money – though I’d take it gladly if you want to get rid of me that way – I definitely didn’t come to blackmail intimacies from you. Though, I definitely wouldn’t push you off should you ever find yourself in need of a good time.”

The smirk on Barty’s face is unconvincing in its effortlessness. He looks lost and hurt beyond where Rosier and James hit him.

He scratches the back of his head. “I need a friend. Please, I need somewhere to stay.”

Regulus looks at him for a long moment, studying him from his posture to the look of shame in his eyes. “That is all?”

“It seems like asking for a lot, doesn’t it?”

“A room in this house?”

“A friend, I mean. I could be your friend.”

“I don’t need friends.”

“Funny, I would have said the same thing a few weeks ago. Now, look at me. …We all need friends. We need allies. I can be your ally. I assume what you have going on here with James isn’t meant to last forever, is it?”

“No.”

“Then you will need a friend for after. Can’t we be that for each other? Confidants? Two crazy people banding together? I knew right away that we were meant to know each other better. Cut from the same cloth, remember?”

“You might want to rethink that statement with your new theories.”

I just heard James refer to you as ‘him’. I think we can agree that they’re not just theories. And, further, I enjoy lying with men and as much as with women. I could go to prison for what I’ve done with your coachman – and I don’t mean the breaking and thieving. Maybe you aren’t doing the same things, but you’re not following the world’s wild ideas about genders, love, and sex either. It is close enough for me to never – never – threaten you with blackmail. I may be a terrible person, I admit that freely, but I do not blackmail people like me. It is my most important principle.”

The thing is, Barty is right. Regulus needs a friend. He needs someone who will be in his life once this marriage has fulfilled its duty, and he needs to set James free. He needs someone to talk to about all the things he can’t concern James with – from his feelings to what he did with Lily.

Regulus finds people who live by principles far more trusting than people who decide things on a case-to-case basis. People with principles are predictable. They do what you expect them to do. They tell you what they will do. Regulus lives by principles, too. Maybe he and Barty are more alike than he thought.

Regulus liked Barty when they met in December. He liked how it made James pouty when he spent time with the man. He liked his humour and his stories from the childhood he shared with James.

“I will tell Lupin to prepare your room.”

Barty exhales with a wave of relief.

“Maybe we should be friends. But try not to get into any more fights with my husband. And don’t you dare to betray Rosier again.”

“I’ll give my best.” – and Regulus knows he can’t ask for more than that.

Regulus stands up from the sofa, taking the knife with him. “Wait here until someone shows you up. I’ll go change.”

“Hey, what am I to call you now? By what name?”

“Regulus.”

He smirks and extends his hand. “Honoured to make your acquaintance, Lord Regulus.” – and Regulus knows they will have a good time.

Outside, Regulus informs Lupin to prepare the room. James is pacing the hallway in front of the sitting room.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. He didn’t try to do anything scandalous, I promise.”

“What did he want?”

“A place to stay. I told him he could live here for a while.” He walks past him to the staircase.

“What?” James exclaims and follows him. “You said what? I don’t want him in my house.”

“James, his father chased him out of his home.”

“So?”

“So? Aren’t you the safe haven for discarded sodomites?”

“That doesn’t mean I have to take that man in.”

“You don’t. I did, though. He wants me to be his friend, and I want to be his.”

“Friend?”

“Yes. You are friends with my brother. Am I not allowed to have friends?”

“He doesn’t want to be your friend. He wants to crawl into your bedchambers.”

“Let us come to an agreement then: If he does anything I did not consent to in advance, we can murder him instantly. His father surely won’t miss him, and he doesn’t have any other friends. We can choose one of your father’s political enemies and spread his remains in their land.”

James pauses. “I sometimes forget that you are crazy scary, not just scary.”

“Thank you. Oh, you didn’t drink any of the tea, did you?”

“No?”

“Good, I should tell Remus to remove it without one of the servants drinking from it. Do go downstairs to Poppy, though and tell her to have a look at you after that little fight.”

“Regulus,” James catches up to him by his door, grabs his wrist and traps him between him and the door. They don’t touch just yet. Regulus’ leg twitches as if it wants to move just a few inches more in James’ direction. “I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t have to. I don’t trust him either. Not yet, at any rate. But he wants to be friends, and I don’t see many reasons to deny him.”

“I see many reasons. Like, him flirting with you, trying to goad you into an affair with him, breaking into your bedroom, and insinuating-“

“James,” he says softly. “You don’t know how much I appreciate your goodness and your willingness to protect me. I do. And I admit I enjoyed watching you hit him for his insinuations. But can you believe me when I say I can handle myself? I’m a grown man.”

“I know you are. …I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“I know. Thank you. But I need friends besides you. I need allies for my life after your wife is dead, and I must leave this place.”

“What are you talking about? You’ll have me as a friend.”

“You’ll have to resume your own life. Find a new wife, fall in love, all of that. Nothing we have between us will last forever. I need a friendship that can exist when our time has run out.”

James looks away from him. He looks like Regulus punched him in the stomach. He wishes he could tell him they can be friends after it all goes down. He wishes they could be friends. But Regulus is getting too deep in his adoration for this man. He couldn’t watch him be happy and in love with another. He couldn’t be a friend looking in with Sirius every once in a while. He will die, and their relationship, whatever nature it may be, must die with him.

Regulus suppresses a shudder. The thought of the future washes ice-cold over his body and makes his eyes hurt.

This is why he shouldn’t have entertained his silly admiration from the start. “You are a good friend,” he whispers. “You are the very best man I know, and no person would have ever treated me as well as you treat me. But we know this will end soon, and then I must leave behind every trace of your wife’s life.”

“Not every trace. We can meet in London and go to the theatre or to the club where you give everyone a run for their money. There are many beautiful places we can visit together as us, as friends. Why do you talk like I can’t see you anymore after you leave Lioncrest?”

Regulus can’t be stubborn when James talks to him as softly as he does now. He can’t stop himself from giving in when he sounds distraught at the thought of not seeing him anymore.

“We’ll have to see how it goes,” he whispers. “Maybe we can meet somewhere someday. But either way, we won’t spend as much time together as we do now. Not even as much as you spend with Sirius. Not even half that, I’m afraid. Barty simply offers friendship. Nothing more, nothing less. Will you deny me that?”

“I couldn’t deny you anything, Regulus. I can only hope you don’t demand too much.”

“Is him staying too much?”

“It’s as far as I’m willing to go.”

Regulus smiles gently. “Thank you. Now, can I please go change out of this dress?”

James looks at him and the wall behind him as if he didn’t notice he holds him in place here. He steps back, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Of course.”

“We can meet in the library. I want to hear more of the stories your mother told you as a child.”

James nods slowly. “That sounds good, yes. …Will Barty be there?”

“No. Just you and I.”

That puts a smile back on James’ face. “I’ll wait downstairs for you.”

Regulus enters his room and pulls the door shut. He leans back against it and takes a deep breath, pushing his ribcage against the corset and making all his fat and curves bulge out at the top of it. With the tension of Barty and James gone, the overwhelming feeling of wrong and disgusting skin rolls over him.

He calls for Pandora with the little string by his bed and flings himself into the chair by the vanity.

Why does his stupid head keep obsessing over James? He won’t ever be able to love him the way Regulus needs him to. He would prefer what Regulus sees in the mirror. He likes women. He could fall for his body. He could maybe even cultivate careful emotions for him if given time, but it won’t be in the way Regulus needs him to. He is afraid to lose him as a friend? Regulus is afraid to lose him as someone who sees him as a man. Regulus would rather stay away than for James’ perception of him to change. Regulus would rather stay away than watch James giving all his love to someone else, to a woman with his body but without his mind.

Maybe Barty will prove more viable as a friend. Not as a lover, either. Regulus couldn’t love someone like him for long. But he might become a good friend.

***

Remus sits at his desk in the evening. James, Regulus, and Crouch have gone to bed, as have most of the servants. Remus couldn’t seep. He keeps thinking about teatime a few days ago. He considers James a friend, which is daring for a butler and his employer. Yet, he could never confide in him what went down between him and Sirius. James doesn’t know about them, to begin with. And Sirius is a far dearer friend to him than Remus, so James might just end up being angry with him, too.

He can’t talk to him. He can’t talk to anyone about it. He wishes to talk to Sirius. He feels like he should explain. He must explain. He must explain why there can’t be love. Why Sirius doesn’t love him, and why Remus can’t let him say such impossibilities.

He just wants to talk to him. He just wants to see him, and hear his voice, and feel his arms around him. Just once more. Just once.

The ink from the pen drops onto the paper in front of him. The candle draws long, deep shadows across the desk and the wall, distorting his features further.

Dear Sirius,

He begins to write, then scratches it out and starts anew.

Dear Seren,

This is also wrong. He starts again.

My Star,
I miss you.

He doesn’t know what else to say. What else is in there? He can’t explain himself over paper. He doubts he could write it all out. It won’t even make sense.

My Star,
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
Please come back and talk to me. Please give me a chance to explain myself. Please, let me tell you all the horrible things of the world and let me destroy your dream of love and happiness forever-

He rips the page apart and throws it away.

My Star,
I miss you.
You deserve love. Good love. Real love. Trusted and tested love. You do. You do. You do. Like in the books and the poems and the songs. You do.
I don’t have it. It’s not mine to give.

 He destroys this one, too. He wouldn’t know where to send it anyway. He has no address for Algeria.

He goes back to bed and doesn’t sleep.

***

Chapter Text

“Each of us has Heaven and Hell in him” The Picture of Dorian Gray 189

James sorts through the letters and the freshly ironed newspaper. He hands a letter to Regulus before opening the ones meant for himself.

“It’s from your mother,” Regulus announces when he opens the envelope.

After the letter informing her about the miscarriage, he hasn’t heard from her beyond giving her condolences.

“Why does she write to you but not me?” James asks with a bit of a pout.

Regulus scans the letter. “She says to give you her love.”

James smiles like a child who was allowed a sweet, and turns back to his own correspondence.

The gist of the letter is that Euphemia found out Regulus’ birthday takes place at the end of April. She considers it the perfect opportunity to introduce him to society, or the county to be exact, as a person, the future countess, and as James’ wife. This will allow grander celebrations in the future, like Christmas and New Year's Eve, with other noble families.

“You look like she wrote a Penny Dreadful,” Barty smirks. “Is she suggesting positions and rituals for successful heir-conception? Not that she’d know too much about it.”

“Hey, that is my mother you are talking about,” James mutters. He still isn’t convinced by this arrangement. Granted, it’s been less than a week since Barty moved in.

“She wants me to throw a ball for my birthday,” Regulus announces and studies the second page of the letter, which consists of a list of Lords, Ladies and dignitaries that should be invited. “Introduce me to society and all that.”

“I like balls,” Barty announces, which makes James giggle like a boy. Both men are regressing when they are with each other. Regulus dreads to see them paired with Sirius.

“This is a long list,” Regulus mumbles. He only recognises the names of the Tremblays, Abbots, Longbottoms, and Severus Snape. The little note under his name says:

“Journalist. Good coverage is important.”

– as if the man who has been slandering him in the press for weeks would say anything nice about them when invited to such an event.

“You don’t have to do anything,” James assures him. “It would be a long day in dresses and making polite conversation with people you wouldn’t like.”

“You can read for yourself, but your mother doesn’t even give me the illusion of choice.”

“I can write to her, tell her you’re sick, and we can’t put such a big event on you.”

Regulus slides the letters to James and pushes his breakfast from side to side on his plate. “No, she is right in what she writes. I need to make an official appearance sooner than later. She says there is talk and even questions of the legitimacy of our marriage. It needs to be done. I can bear it for one evening, but should I still be here next Christmas, I will insist they are not invited. They get to see me once, and that must be enough.”

James smiles and reaches over to gently put his hand on his wrist. “Whatever you decide, Reg. I won’t leave your side for it if you want to throw a ball.”

Barty looks from James to Regulus while chewing his breakfast. “Yeah, me neither.”

James clenches his jaw. “No one needs your help, Barty.”

“That decision lies with him, not you,” he says smugly.

Regulus could tell them to stop, but his vain side enjoys their little fights. James’ jealousy is one of his only sources of entertainment.

“It’s a socially and economically important event. I’ll write to the tailor and start planning with Mrs McGonagall.”

“We still have two months, Reg.”

“The sooner I get this out of my head, the better. Read this list and add anyone who you don’t like.”

“Why would we invite people I don’t like?”

“Because I’m petty and gladly make people jealous and put them in their place. As much as it makes me want to throw up, your wife does look magnificent, especially by English comparison. I’ll make this the most extravagant display of wealth, elegance, and style those people have ever seen. They’ll hate it. You win.”

“I don’t need to win anything. Besides, just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean they don’t like me. Everybody likes me.”

Barty clears his throat and points at himself.

“Barty, you’d despise him even more for having a perfect wife, perfect party, and a clear yet stylish display of an abundance of wealth, no?”

“I’d be seeding.”

“I don’t care about anyone’s opinion. Especially not yours.”

Regulus runs his hands through his hair. Why won’t James understand him? Does he really have to spell it out for him? “James. Just let me concentrate on this part of it. Would you?”

James looks back at him for a long moment. He rubs his fingertips into the skin by Regulus’ wrist. “Okay. I write them down. You’ll show them, darling.”

James calling him darling does things to him, especially whispered like this.

Barty dramatically rolls his eyes at them.

***

Regulus misses playing poker. Usually, he and James play other card games or chess. Now Barty joins them every once in a while.

It takes Regulus saying he wants to play poker once, and the following evening, James has assembled Barty, Peter, and Remus in the drawing room to play.

It is preposterous for servants and employers to sit at one table and play against each other – especially when the servants win their money. Regulus likes it.

“This is impossible,” Barty mutters when Regulus wins again. “How?”

James laughs and waves Gideon over to refill the drink. “Never play him for money if you know what is good for you. I watched him making a grown man cry in London.”

“Yes, don’t play me for money. Play for your dignity. It is far more fun.”

Remus collects the cards and starts opening a new round.

“Is it true? Did you really make a man cry over a game of Poker, Lord Regulus?” Peter asks excitedly. Regulus doesn’t know much about Peter. He is James’ valet and childhood friend (as far as the son of the Lord and the son of a servant can be friends), and his duties never cross paths with Regulus.

“Yes. James.”

Barty snorts.

“I didn’t cry,” James mutters defensively.

“Did he cry?” Peter asks with a grin.

“Peter,” Remus warns him. The lines between their classes get blurred while sitting at one table, playing cards. Remus seems to dislike this as if his relationships with James and Sirius aren’t the most blurred of all.

“We played at Oscar Wilde’s house in London,” Regulus tells him while smirking at James. “A very handsome young poet convinced me to bet a kiss. Of course, he had a very good hand and won.”

Apparently, the memory isn’t as funny to James as it is to Regulus.

“Did you kiss him?” Barty asks.

“Only on the cheek. Still, Jamie didn’t like it, did you?”

“Bunch of perverts,” James mutters. “That is why I don’t like city people. Especially city artists. Also, his poetry was bad.”

The men at the table snicker, to which James only rolls his eyes. “Also, he wasn’t that handsome.”

“Yes, because you, of all people at this table, concern yourself with the attractiveness of other men,” Barty says pointedly. “I trust Regulus’ judgement over yours in that department.”

“I don’t have to be attracted to men to say whether one is attractive. I recognise that Regulus is a very attractive man, as is Sirius. You aren’t.”

Regulus might have enjoyed the compliment more if it wasn’t embedded in another reminder that James is solely attractive to women. His little jealousies mean nothing. At least nothing that interests Regulus.

Remus deals the cards.

“Hey, Regulus, how about you bet another kiss,” Barty winks at him.

“Barty,” James warns him, “another word, and you sleep with the horses.”

“Hey, it’s a fair game. Maybe you win his kiss. Maybe Peter.”

“No thanks,” Peter mumbles. “Sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, my Lord.”

“It was very offensive, though,” Barty says. “What are you saying? Isn’t Lord Regulus good enough to kiss you? Tsk, Pettigrew, you’re in trouble.”

“Leave him alone,” James growls.

Remus sighs, annoyed. “How about this: The one who is out first of the two of you must stop provoking the other for a week.”

“Lupin, don’t you dare take away my entertainment,” Regulus complains. “Or James must take me to the theatre every night.”

“I’ll gladly take you. We’ll make an evening of it. Remus, can you inquire what they’re showing at the theatre this week?”

“First thing in the morning,” Remus agrees. “Now, if you could place your bets, gentlemen.”

“No kisses for us, apparently,” Barty says and winks at James.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I’d honestly rather play Oscar Wilde again than you.”

“Oscar is truly horrible at poker,” Regulus says, thinking back to the party in London. “Granted, it was 3 a.m., he was drunk and kept blabbering about Sirius leaving him on his knees in the bedroom, but I doubt he’d be much better under normal circumstances. His hubris gets in his way.”

James chuckles. “Right, he had to surrender a copy of his new play to you at the end of the night. What’s its name again?”

“A Woman of no Importance.”

“Right! Best part of the evening.”

“Really? Of the entire party, that was the best part?”

“Definitely better than watching him flirt with you and Sirius in tandem. After Sirius left, he tried to go down on you instead of him. Then he tried with every man in the house. I’m certain when he came downstairs to play with us, three men were coming down behind him.”

“Good for him,” Barty laughs. “Raise twenty.”

Regulus looks at the table again to see what Barty is doing. Remus is staring at him and James.

“Lupin? Is something the matter?”

He jolts and blinks. “No. Apologies. I was just thinking of something.”

“Something more important than the game?” James laughs. “Maybe it’s getting too late. We should call it a night after this round.”

Lupin has been withdrawn and distracted ever since London. Something happened between him and Sirius towards the end of the holiday. Regulus wouldn’t say that he necessarily cares about his brother’s love life. Maybe they had a fallout because Sirius went upstairs with Oscar. Perhaps they fought about something else entirely. Really, those two are James’ friends. He should be responsible for looking after them and figuring out their problems. But he didn’t even notice anything was happening between them. Maybe he would notice it sooner if he didn’t concentrate so much on who flirts with Regulus. As if Regulus cared about anyone flirting with him but James.

“Actually,” Remus mumbles and stands up, “Excuse me, but I’m too tired for this.”

“Oh, okay, no problem,” James says worriedly. “Are you all right, my friend?”

“Yes, thank you. I should go to sleep. I see you in the morning.” Without further ado, Remus leaves them.

“Well, that sucks,” Barty complains, “I would’ve won this round.”

“In your dreams,” Regulus says, peeking at his own cards.

Peter stands up. “I excuse myself, too. Good Night, my Lords. Mr Crouch.” James smirks at the exaggerated distinction.

“Do we call it a night?” Barty asks. “I could go for another drink.”

James looks towards Gideon. “You can go, too. The glasses can be cleared in the morning.”

Gideon vacates the room as well. Barty flings himself on a sofa.

“I will go to bed,” James announces. “What about you, Regulus?”

He looks from James to Barty. He could play with James a little, stay downstairs and see how he reacts. But he probably should not overdo it. James might end up thinking he has an actual romantic connection to Barty.

Would that be bad? Maybe he should have such a relationship with the man – or at least try. It isn’t like his little obsession with James has any future.

“Reggie?” James asks quietly.

“Yes, I go to bed, too. I need to stop thinking.”

***

Barty has never liked Lioncrest Manor much. He doesn’t get the lion thing, to begin with. It seems pretentious. Oh, we’re lions. Oh, we’re brave. Oh, we’re so good and morally superior. Yadayadayada. Looking back, it does fit their attitude – at least James’s.

Further, Lioncrest Manor is entirely too big for just James and Regulus to live there. It is the kind of estate for a Lord and Lady and their five children - and their respective spouses and children. And then there is still space to entertain a boatload of guests for a week. In all its grandeur, it feels suffocatingly lonely. No wonder James turned to his servants for friends.

Barty and his family don’t need vast lands and castle-like manors to feel lonely. He does well with that in his father’s London house, which offers space for only them and two guests at most and only hosts a cook, a butler, his mother’s Lady’s Maid and his father’s valet. They sometimes hire a footman when they’re entertaining.

James and Barty could have been friends under the right circumstances, but as it stood, they were just two brats who fought each other heads-on when put together by their parents.

Wherever James was all gold, shiny, brave, and good, Barty was hidden behind reflective silver walls, cunning and of a selfish disposition stemming from loneliness that was routinely mistaken for cruelty. They share a particular nick for mischief, but Barty sees more similarity between him and Regulus than between him and James.

Regulus hates his parents, too. They each had a lonely childhood with only one person in the world showing them kindness (Barty’s mother and Regulus’ brother, respectively). They never made friends in early adulthood or adolescence because people thought them cold, mean-spirited, and a little insane. Whenever Barty talks to Regulus, he finds all those tiny parallels that don’t make him feel better about his life but, at the very least, a tiny bit less lonely in the grand scheme of things.

James will never understand this. How could he? Every person he ever met took an immediate liking to him. It was such a common thing that whenever it didn’t happen, he took it personally – which turned to hate for Barty and adoration for Lily, respectively. James has an unquenchable desire to be liked. He needs to be loved, or he will grow depressed and moody. It’s pathetic, really. The man couldn’t survive one day of Barty’s life.

Barty wanders the ostentatious hallways looking for something – or someone – to do. This is undoubtedly better than counting his last savings every night and hiding out in the cheapest pubs that can give him a bed. He still won’t be happy about it.

At least he can now, at the age of 21, say that he has one friend—at least that.

He finds Regulus in the library, sitting by the reading sofas beside one of the high windows. He has his elbow propped up on the armrest and holds his head in his hand while reading.

“Hey, what are you reading?” Barty asks and flings himself in an armchair by his side.

“James bought a new crime novel for me.”

“Oh, did he?”

“He always tries to get the newest murder mysteries and detective stories for me. He knows I love them.” Regulus smiles down at the book like it is the most romantic thing he has ever seen in his life.

“Uh-huh. Do you know who the killer is already?”

“I have my theories.” He closes the book. “Did you want something?”

“Just spending time. That’s what friends do, right?”

“I guess. Do you want to read something?”

“Not much of a reader.” He cranes his neck to see the title of Regulus’ book. “A Weak Heart. How fitting.”

“Fitting? Why?”

Barty rolls his eyes at him. “Please, Regulus, don’t play dumb with me. Hearts. Weak. You and James…”

Regulus raises an eyebrow at him.

“You have a crush on him.”

“I do not,” he says too quickly.

“Yes, you do. I was wondering how much of this marriage is actually fake.”

“The marriage is real. We are wedded by law.”

“I meant on the emotional side of things.”

“Oh please, other married couples don’t bother faking romance either. Why would we?”

“My thought exactly. Obviously, you’re not faking it.”

“I agree.”

“Because you’re actually in love.”

“No.” He sounds delightfully French when he snaps at him like this.

“You’re cute.”

“I could murder you without effort.”

“I know. You’re also in love with James. Like, pathetically so.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I am grateful for all he does for me, and I like him very much. That is not the same thing.”

Either Regulus is a fantastic liar, or he is horribly unaware of his own feelings. Maybe both. Barty respects good liars. He also respects delusional people, mainly because he respects himself, and he has often been called delusional, like when he asked his father whether he liked him.

“So, you don’t have any romantic feelings for James? None? That is what you want to tell me?”

Regulus gives him a pointed look. “And you? Do you have feelings for Rosier?”

Rosier? His mind supplies a picture of the blond coachman, naked, bathed in candlelight, and tangled in expensive sheets up in Barty’s room. He laughs at it. “Rosier? How do you get that idea?”

“Well, do you? Or did you truly only use him to get into my house?”

Now, he is supplied with Evan looking disgusted and sick and saying, ‘You used me’. Barty hates his brain.

“Well, I am an arsehole. So, that is far more likely than me having feelings for him.”

“I claim the probability of you and Rosier ending up in a romance together is the same as the probability of James and I being in love.”

Barty pushes it around in his head and grimaces. “Ugh. Those odds are depressing from literally all sides and angles.”

“Yes? Not necessarily. Rosier might get the good end of it.”

Barty rolls his eyes. “I still think you fancy your husband.”

“That is okay. We are all wrong sometimes.” He smirks at him and opens his book again.

Barty honestly doesn’t get what Regulus sees in the man. He could never be in love with someone so honourable and soft. James may be many good things (besides annoying, spoiled, and suffering from a severe case of ‘The world revolves around me’-ism), but that just makes him terribly dull in Barty’s book. He isn’t exciting. How can a man like that make anyone’s heart race?

Regulus is intriguing. He is exciting, new, and funny. He is French, which makes him ten times more interesting than every Englishman Barty knows. How does someone like him, who is like Barty in many ways, fall for someone as predictable and soft as James?

He doesn’t want to, but he thinks of Rosier then, too. He was intriguing, too. He indulged his mad little ideas and enabled his thrill-chasing. He was exciting and hot.

It doesn’t matter. Barty ruined that anyway.

***

Regulus decides to showcase their wealth in every bit of his birthday party without making it tacky. If you look like you are trying too hard, you look poor in taste and money. Instead, the funds need to be well distributed. James gave him free reign over their money, telling him to get only the best of everything.

The invitations are handwritten on expensive paper with Regulus’ finest calligraphy. They scream opulence already so their guests know that they are not dealing with a French peasant and an unsuccessful, mismanaging Viscount. The subtheme for the ball is extreme pettiness. That is what Regulus is good at.

James sits in Regulus’ little office, going through their guest list and sighing occasionally at a name he doesn’t like. He isn’t on par with the subtheme.

“Baron Lestrange? Who is that?”

“My cousin’s husband. She is the Baronne. I’m inviting my cousins but not my parents.” Regulus loves the subtheme.

“Didn’t you say you had a cousin who married an Italian? Is she on this list?”

“No. Her appearance will only spark controversy and gossip. That is what we don’t want, James. Remember?”

James shrugs and puts the list down. Regulus is sealing the last envelope with the family crest.

Someone knocks on the door. Regulus asks them to come in.

Lupin looks nervously from Regulus to James and holds out a telegram to James. “This just arrived. It seems to be urgent.”

“Are you okay?” James asks and opens the telegram.

“I don’t like urgent telegrams.”

James smiles and shakes his head. He unfolds the paper and reads it. His smile drops instantly. He straightens his glasses and reads again.

“James? What is it?” Regulus asks carefully.

He swallows heavily. “It is my Grandmother. She… she is sick, and my parents ask me to come.” His voice shakes slightly when he speaks.

“I will speak to the servants and prepare your journey,” Lupin says quickly, “For how many days should Peter pack?”

“I- I don’t know…”

“A week,” Regulus steps in. “And tell Pandora she should pack for me, too.”

“Reg, you don’t have to come with me… you’d have to dress up.”

“Don’t argue with me. Lupin, go.” Regulus kneels on the ground by James’ side and gently takes the telegram. “Of course, I’m coming with you, Idiot.”

He scans the telegram himself. The Dowager Countess was taken ill a while ago. They didn’t want to alarm James and Regulus. Now, she seems to be nearing her end.

A nagging guilt pulls something James said back into his conscience.

“I just hope she didn’t tell my grandmother about it. She once said that one more miscarriage in the family would kill her. And she is the kind of woman who likes to follow through. “

***

Chapter Text

“I couldn’t be happy if I didn’t see him every day. Of course sometimes it is only for a few minutes. But a few minutes with somebody one worships mean a great deal.” The Picture of Dorian Gray 66

The Earl and Countess moved into Lion’s Keep after James’ wedding to give the newlywed couple privacy. It was a rather uncommon practice, and Regulus is convinced Sirius and James somehow talked them into it.

Lion’s Keep is much smaller than Lioncrest and sits on a soft hill near Godric’s Hollow. The town is considerably bigger than Lyopot, and the Dower House is situated here too. Lion’s Keep was the Earl’s residence for a few generations before a strategic marriage added a considerable amount of money and the manor, which is now called Lioncrest.

James and Regulus only took Peter and Pandora with them, leaving Lupin in charge of Barty and the manor. They receive a warm welcome from James’ parents and the servants, most of whom used to be employed at Lioncrest before Regulus’ time.

The Dowager is bed-bound. Regulus tells himself it is old age and not the shock of Regulus’ lie that put her here. She looks ghastly pale, her grey and white hair hanging over her shoulder in a braid turned messy from moving and sleeping. Regulus stays in the back of the room while James sits by her bed and talks to her. Her voice is thin, her eyes dull. Regulus can barely hear her, and he isn’t certain she can even see him.

The Countess is a mess, too. Her eyes are red from crying, and she ruins a handkerchief a day. Fleamont, James’ father, is uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t told one obscure fact since they arrived, nor has he told a joke. He seems a different man than the father-in-law Regulus got to know over Christmas. He stands by his mother’s bed, unmoving, mute.

Regulus feels dramatically out of place in this house. He spoke only a few words with the Dowager when they met at the wedding and for Christmas.

Why on earth did he insist on coming?

To help James, probably. He must have gone mad. What could Regulus possibly do to help James? He isn’t known for being comforting or supportive. He can hardly scare the Dowager into being healthy again. Well, he could try, but he assumes it would achieve the opposite effect. He could scare her into dying faster to end this period of uncertainty, but that may be ill-received by the family.

So, instead of doing anything remotely helpful, Regulus stays out of his in-laws' way and hides in the library or the bedroom assigned to him and James.

Yes, they share a bedroom. They are married, after all.

“I can ask for a second room,” James said when they arrived.

“No. They will only think something is wrong between us and start worrying. All of you have enough things demanding your attention.”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa, then.”

Regulus could have argued that the bed was big enough for them to sleep in without touching, but he decided it wasn’t the moment to argue with him.

It didn’t matter anyway. James doesn’t sleep, neither in the bed nor on the sofa.

He stays up all day and night running from his mother to his grandmother, talking, comforting, reading aloud, and thinking of ways to cheer them up. He even waits on them like a footman. He barely eats, too.

And Regulus brought this on all of them with that stupid lie of a pregnancy, didn’t he?

Regulus found a big, golden-framed picture of a baby boy in a white christening dress in the drawing room. Not James, but his older brother Harry. It stands surrounded by photos of James in different stages of his life. There is even a photograph of James and Sirius.

It was a cruel lie to this family. It is so much less fun to be cruel to a family that hasn’t done you any harm.

It’s been three days of James giving every piece of himself to his family, and Regulus has been standing in front of the pictures in the drawing room for an hour.

He rubs at his eyes and leaves the room. He needs to lie down somewhere. He is feeling too hot in his stupid dress, and a few of the short curls came out of the updo.

He climbs the stairs, passing a large portrait of a man clad in ostentatious red robes and a silver sword in his hand. It's good that no one insisted on hanging such pictures in Regulus’ home.

The hallways are only dimly lit, so Regulus doesn’t see James immediately. He sees a figure slumped against a wall. He needs to stand almost in front of him to recognise him. He leans against the wall by their bedroom, head tipped back and eyes closed.

“James?” Regulus whispers and touches his arm. He jolts and straightens his back. “Did something happen?”

“No, nothing, I just… I wanted-“

“You should lie down.”

“No, I must go see my mother.”

“James, you barely slept or ate for three days. You’ve been taking care of everyone. You need to take a break.”

“I can take a break after this is over. My family needs me.” He pushes his glasses into his hair to rub his hands over his face.

This must count as self-destructiveness. Regulus knows that James is selfless and loving – he likes it the most about him. And sure, he always feels like he needs to save everyone, but there must be a stop to this somewhere. He can’t keep it up for much longer without breaking down.

“You’ve been caring for them without sleep or food for days. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

James puts his glasses back on and looks at him. “What about you?” he asks softly. “Are you okay?”

“Irrelevant. You need to take a nap.”

“I-“

“I promise to wake you up should anything happen. Let me get you to bed, or I will go full angry French Nanny on you.”

James smiles weakly and lets Regulus lead him to their bedroom. He helps him to remove his shoes, jacket and waistcoat and puts him under the blankets.

“Reggie,” James whispers, reaching for his wrist when Regulus removes his glasses. “You promise to wake me?”

“I promise.”

“Thank you.”

Regulus smiles and puts the glasses aside. Considering all the things James has done for him, the very least Regulus can do is ensure his well-being.

He leaves the bedroom and slowly walks up to Euphemia’s room.

“Apologies, Lady Gryffindor, James wanted to see whether you’re okay.”

The countess lies in bed, looking weakly up at him. “Where is James?”

“I made him go to bed. He was exhausted.”

The countess smiles gently. “That’s my little sunshine. We always said he had an ego as big as the county and a heart to match. He’d rather take care of me and his grandmother alone than of himself.”

It is a rare quality. Regulus grew up selfishly, surrounded by selfish people. Every member of their family would sell the other to the authorities if it meant personal gain. Even Sirius, Regulus suspects, would betray him under the right circumstances. Maybe if they hadn’t spent their entire childhood and adolescence with only each other. For a while, Regulus accused Sirius of forgetting about him and replacing him with James. But at the end of the day, Sirius always returned to him.

People like James, with big hearts and not afraid to show them and put them to good use, must be protected. They must be protected by selfish people who are ready to chase every harmful person and everyone demanding too much out of their lives.

“Can you sit with me for a while?” Euphemia asks suddenly. “I feel so useless, lying here exhausted while my son runs himself into the ground and my mother-in-law is at the brink of death.”

Regulus would rather jump out of a window than sit down and converse with Euphemia. He likes her but that much.

“I feel lonely,” she confesses. “Sit and tell me what you and James are up to at Lioncrest. Please.”

Regulus bites down on his lip. If James can always be selfless and good, he can at least stay with his mother for an hour to cheer her up.

The rest of the day passes without disruption but also without good news regarding the Dowager.

Regulus ensures that a tray with food is sent up to James shortly before he and Fleamont sit down for dinner.

“You are a good influence on James,” Fleamont says out of nowhere halfway through the dinner. “You didn’t have to accompany him, but you did. You made sure he got some sleep and food. You are a good wife.”

Regulus tries to hide the reaction his body has to that sentence. Fleamont means it when he says this. When James or Regulus refer to him as “James’ wife,” they both know they mean a different person, a character Regulus must play occasionally. It is different when other people who don’t know better call him, the person, the man, “James’ wife.”

The only “good wife” Regulus aims to be is the kind that is written positively about in the papers. “James’ wife” devotes her time to making James and his family look good.

Regulus wants to be a good thing in James’s life and not the inconvenient little brother of his best friend who decides to take over his life with his mad ideas and feelings.

After dinner, Regulus excuses himself rather quickly from Fleamont and goes upstairs. James is asleep again at this point. Pandora helps him undress in the dressing room to not wake him up.

When Regulus sneaks back, James sleeps on the left side, right where he left him. Regulus carefully slips under the covers on the other side, leaving a vast amount of space between them.

“Reggie?” James mumbles sleepily.

“Yes?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Go to sleep, sunshine.”

James hums and drifts back into sleep. Regulus falls asleep to the sound of James breathing.

***

When the cat’s away, the mice will play.

Yes, except if the mice are helmed by Remus Lupin. While Regulus and James are away, Mrs McGonagall and Lupin administer some deep cleaning around the manor. They ignore Barty for the most part, except for breakfast, luncheon, and dinner. It feels weird to eat alone in the big dining room. Barty even asks whether he could eat downstairs with the servants, but he is told in no uncertain terms that he isn’t welcome.

With Regulus gone, he is back to an astounding zero amount of friends.

He took a knife from breakfast this morning. He walks around the hallways and rooms, stopping at a painting every once in a while. When he finds a particularly ugly painting, he stops.

Now, he stands in front of a painting of a man made of berries, potatoes and a barrel. This must be James’ taste, not Regulus’s. Like with the other ugly paintings, he puts the tip of the knife against the canvas, not enough to puncture it. He could slice it. He could just stab it and see how long it would take anyone to notice. Maybe a servant will get blamed.

It’s the kind of destructiveness that caused him to be thrown out of his house.

Like with the other pictures, he lowers the knife with a sigh. He throws himself on a sofa in the sitting room. Would anyone come to cater to him if he rang for tea?

The servants locked the rooms of James and Regulus so he can’t even go there to snoop.

His mind takes him back to Evan Rosier. He genuinely liked the man. He is handsome and knows what he is doing. They started meeting when Rosier first came to Lioncrest, and Barty was on one of his mandatory visits here.

Barty hid by the carriages to smoke. Rosier found him and bummed a cigarette. Arty lit it for him and watched him blow out the smoke on a dark winter afternoon. He tossed his blond head back, eyes closed, and sighed deeply. Then he looked at him with dark green eyes and a smirk and said, “Thanks, m’Lord.”

“I’m not a Lord.”

“I know. M’Lord.” Evan winked at Barty, and he wanted to drop to his knees for him. He did so the next day when they met again by the carriages for another smoke.

The boredom is getting the better of him if his mind chooses that to occupy itself.

Not a bad idea, though, to go for a smoke. He could smoke in here, stink up the sitting room, and burn a hole into the sofa. The day has been dark, and when he casts a look outside, he can see a faint drizzle. He could go to the carriages.

He grabs a coat and heads outside. It is the middle of February and cold enough for Barty to see his breath when he steps out but not cold enough to turn the starting rain into snow.

He walks quickly through the incoming downpour to the carriages, not bothering to cover his head.

Evidently, he wasn’t the first one to have the idea. Evan stands in his usual spot, smoking. He is still dry.

“Hey,” Barty says, walking up to him as if nothing ever happened and this man didn’t give him a black eye a while ago. “Can I have one?”

“No. What do you want?”

“A cigarette.” Barty shrugs and takes out his own pack. He takes out a smoke and lights it. “How are you?”

“Fuck off, Crouch. I’m not talking to you.”

“Why not? Come on, was it so bad? I was just having some fun. No need to be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” He finally looks at him. Part of Barty wishes he didn’t. “I almost lost my job because of you. I happen to actually like these people, and you made me a traitor.”

“Nothing bad happened. No one knows about Regulus.”

“Something bad did happen. You. You are bad. You are the worst of all, and I don’t want you around anymore. Lord Regulus may keep you at the house to pacify you, but don’t act like we’re friends.”

“I-“

“I must have been mad to ever get involved with you. You’re just living for your own amusement, not caring about anything else, do you? No wonder you don’t have any friends.”

Barty refuses to let him see that sentence did anything to him.

“Why are you taking it so personally? Are you just angry because fucking you wasn’t my only reason to come here? You act like I promised you anything, Rosier. Jealous that I’m sleeping in the manor while you’re alone in your little cottage?”

The man laughs dryly. “You think you can get me with that? You think too highly of yourself, Mister Crouch. I do not care for you. I care for myself. I care about my job. You don’t care about anything, which is why you are mean for the sake of it and, at the end of the day, alone. You are not as handsome as you think and far from being as irresistible as you convinced yourself to be. Just ask Lord Regulus. He’d rather crawl into Lord Gryffindor’s bed than yours.”

“Oh, ouch. The coachman doesn’t think I’m worthy of his adoration.”

“The coachman thinks you’re not worthy of anyone’s adoration—or friendship. In fact, I never even liked you. Your only good asset is that bottom of yours, and I still had better.” He flicks the rest of the cigarette to the ground and stomps on it. The rain has got stronger. He rolls his eyes and steps out into the downpour.

He never liked him? Is that what Barty is supposed to believe? Okay, maybe he made a mistake, and perhaps he hurt Evan, but he doesn’t believe this. Evan liked him. They had fun. He came to Lyopot that evening in January because he thought, of all the people who ever got to know him a bit, Evan was the only one to tolerate him. – because he liked him.

Is he so unlikeable? Truly? Even with people he didn’t mean to anger?

He didn’t mean to use Evan. He didn’t mean to hurt him. He wanted fun, and then he was only thinking about himself and how he could get shelter in the manor should Evan not want him with him.

He bites the inside of his cheek. The pain, at last, shuts up the thoughts.

***

James wakes up with the first light.

It feels like it has been a week since he got a full night of sleep. Realistically, it has only been three or four days, but the emotional toil apparently counts for something.

He tends not to think about himself, ever. Sometimes, people call him egotistical. He likes himself too much. He thinks too highly of himself. – and maybe that is true, to an extent.

James is a big fan of himself. He likes his life. He likes his personality. He likes the effect he has on people. He likes that he can help people. He likes it the most when he gets to do it. He wants to be a good person. He can’t always be one, and that makes him upset.

As a matter of fact, James hates thinking about himself and taking care of himself. He tends to never think too much about anything. Overthinking makes one sad and depressed. It leads to only ever finding the bad things in life. Remus is an overthinker. Regulus is an overthinker, too. Barty often seems like he doesn’t think at all, but at the end of the day, he likely overthinks the irrelevant things too much and the important ones not enough and ends up with a botched life anyway.

James doesn’t do that sort of thing.

James lives life as it comes. He decides to concentrate on other people’s problems instead of his own. He doesn’t have problems. He doesn’t think enough about his own life to have problems. If he has problems, he is not aware of them. And as long as he isn’t aware of them, they don’t exist.

His biggest problem, so far, has been Lilly. And really, was that much of a problem? He was in love with her. She wasn’t in love with him. She broke his heart, but, really, it was his own fault. He was a bit depressed after, but at the end of the day, comparatively, it was nothing.

He doubts he has anything more significant happening in his life that he isn’t aware of. He doesn’t want to have anything bigger happening.

Now, of course, his grandmother dying is a rather big thing to happen. He isn’t stupid. He knew this day would come. She is an old woman. She had Fleamont late in life. Fleamont and Euphemia had James late in life. There has never been any illusion that she would survive long enough to meet James’ first child. He wishes that would have happened, though. His family had so much grief with children that the old woman deserved at least one more happy experience before she died.

It wasn’t the lie of the pregnancy or the miscarriage that brought her to her deathbed. James is rational enough to know this. He hopes Regulus doesn’t overthink this so much he ends up with a different conclusion. She is simply old.

James had half forgotten about the lie until his grandmother brought it up on the first day of James’s stay. She mentioned how much she wished she could have met his child, and James said, “I wish so, too,” knowing it wouldn’t happen for another few years.

It could only happen after Regulus.

Part of him doesn’t want there to be an after Regulus. Not for a while.

Maybe that is a problem James should concern himself with.

James sighs lightly and turns to his side. He is lying in a big, canopied bed. The room has been fitted for James to call his own whenever he wished to visit Lion’s Keep. It calls back the memory of James’ old room at Lioncrest. He didn’t sleep much the last few days, but when he did, he napped on the sofa. He offered Regulus to take the sofa because he knew he wouldn’t sleep a lot, while Regulus would take advantage of late mornings and early evenings to not have to play the part of Viscountess for too long.

Because of their sleeping arrangements, this is the first time that James wakes up in the same bed as Regulus. The man is sleeping next to him, closer than they ever would under normal circumstances and yet unnecessarily far away. He frowns a little as if he is thinking very hard about something in his dream.

He is so pale that James sometimes thinks, he would be barely distinguishable from the fabric if he lay bare-faced on a white pillow. He isn’t entirely wrong. His dark curls fall softly around his face and are spread out behind him. James likes that he maintains a length that allows the ringlets to actually show. Most noblemen of the time keep their hair rather short. The curls give a certain wildness to Regulus, something real. It makes him look like a person that can be approached and touched. A person that can be part of someone’s life.

It is different with the “Viscountess.” The Viscountess is very much like what James remembers Regulus to have been the first few times they met at Aquitaine: A cold and angry, mean-spirited woman of untouchable, unthinkable beauty. She was always perfectly dressed, with no flaw in her appearance, her speech, or the way she conducted herself, but a faint, general displeasure for life broke through if one bothered to look closely enough to see. Noblefolk never bothers.

Regulus wears that visage like a shield. The Viscountess is a character for him to play out of necessity. He hides behind her. That woman is not real. She is larger than life. She is untouchable, literally. She looks like she stepped right out of a portrait of a cruel empress who secretly murdered her husbands, lovers, and unruly servants and bathed in their blood. Intriguing. Beautiful. Dangerous.

Regulus is real. Regulus is beautiful but possesses a beauty that is not unworldly, a beauty that instead can be touched. The difference is startling, and James knows which appearance he prefers. He prefers having a real person in his life.

It is curious how a person can be married to someone for six months and never see him as natural and vulnerable as right now: asleep in bed. It is such a mundane thing, but James never thought he’d see Regulus like this.

Would Regulus want him to see him like this? Most likely not.

James reaches out and pulls the blanket up to Regulus’ shoulders. His fingers brush the satin pyjama. A curl has fallen across Regulus’ eyes. James carefully pushes it out of his face and tucks it behind his ear. His hair is as soft as it looks. It is bouncy, too. James carefully pulls on the strand of hair, pulls it straight, and lets it bounce back.

“What are you doing?” Regulus mumbles in tired French.

James doesn’t pull his hand back. “Are you awake?”

“Non.”

James smiles and brushes his knuckles across Regulus’ cheek. His eyes flutter open.

Regulus and Sirius share the most peculiar grey colouring in their eyes, dipping into blue in places, and framed by long, dark lashes.

“What time is it?” Regulus whispers.

“I don’t know. Early. You should go back to sleep.”

“So should you.”

“No, I… I slept enough. I need to look after my grandmother.”

Regulus hums and closes his eyes again. James’ hand is still on his cheek.

“Reggie?”

He hums again.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For putting me to bed, making sure I eat…”

Regulus doesn’t answer for a few seconds, and James almost thinks he fell back to sleep. Then he scoffs lightly. “You have a spider on your ceiling.”

“I have a spider on my ceiling?”

“You’re mad. If you can’t take care of yourself and go to sleep, I will make you.”

James smiles and carefully rubs his thumb over his cheek.

“That is a threat,” Regulus adds.

“I know. Thank you. Now, go back to sleep.”

James pulls his hand back and carefully peels himself out of bed. In the dressing room, he calls on Peter. The servants should be awake already. The sun rises late in February.

Peter informs him that the breakfast isn’t fully prepared yet but that they surely can bring something up quickly if he wishes to eat now. James tells him not to worry about it. He can have breakfast later.

After getting dressed, he sneaks back into the bedroom to collect his shoes. Regulus is sound asleep again, now with his back to James, so he can only see his curls and his feet sticking out of the blanket on the other side.

He called him Sunshine last night. He remembers it clear as day somewhere in his tired, cloudy brain. He called him Sunshine. What a curious thing to do. His mother did this when he was a child. It didn’t sound motherly from Regulus, though. It was vastly different to hear it from him than from his mother, although James is not entirely sure why or in what way.

He carefully picks up his shoes, looks at Regulus again, and leaves the bedroom.

***

The Dowager Countess dies peacefully, surrounded by her family.

Fleamont cries. James didn’t expect to ever see his father cry. Regulus is in the room, too, although not of his own volition but because it is expected. He seems taken aback by Fleamont’s reaction, too. Euphemia embraces her husband, and they cry into each other’s robes. James stands by the bed beside his grandmother, watching them.

Her death was inevitable, and yet, it rolls over James like a shock. In a way, grandmothers, especially when they are Dowager Countesses, seem eternal. They have been on this earth for so much longer than you that imagining a world without their breath seems impossible.

With his parents on the verge of breaking down, James cannot cry. He needs to be strong for them. He needs to do what his father won’t be able to: call on the doctor, the undertakers, the church, arrange the service-

A hand on his shoulder stops his thoughts.

Regulus has stepped up to him. He carefully slides their hands together. “How are you feeling?” he whispers.

James doesn’t know how to answer. “Yes” is on the tip of his tongue, expecting the question to be “Are you okay?” It is not Regulus asked, and his brain cannot supply him with an adequate answer.

“Do you want to leave this room?”

“Yes.”

Regulus gently pulls him out of the room all the way to their bedroom. He makes James sit down on a sofa. A tray with glasses and a water-filled carafe is placed on a small table. Regulus must have asked for it earlier. He fills a glass and hands it to James. His hands are shaky.

Without another word, Regulus sits down beside him and gently places his arm around him in a comforting gesture. He comforts the same way Sirius does, James realises, with one arm wrapped around him, the other one on his wrist, and his head against his shoulder. The familiarity breaks him down a little. Without saying anything either, he leans into Regulus and cries.

It takes hours for the family to function akin to normal people again. They meet in the drawing room in the evening, followed by a quiet dinner.

“I will stay for a week,” James announces when they are headed upstairs afterwards. “You should go home.”

“Why?”

“I need to help my parents with everything.”

“Yes, I know. But why should I go home?”

James leads them back into the bedroom before he says, “I know it is torture to be…her.” He gestures vaguely at his dress. “I’m immensely grateful that you came with me, Regulus. I truly am. But you shouldn’t have to go on like this for another week if it hurts you.”

Regulus softly mutters something in French.

“I have a spider on the ceiling again?” James asks from the pieces he understood.

“I will not leave now. I was useless until now.”

“You weren’t useless. You helped me.”

“And I will not go while you mourn. …Unless you want me to go.”

James doesn’t want him to go. He wouldn’t separate from him voluntarily. He enjoyed Regulus’ company. He enjoyed his care and his comfort.

“Whyever would I want you to go? Of course, I don’t. I’d only sent you home for your own comfort.”

Regulus stands by the bed while James is still at the door. He looks away from him, picking at the lace hem of his black sleeves. “I imagined you’d like me to go because you blame me.”

“Blame you? For what?”

Regulus bites his lip. He is an overthinker. He does get to the wrong conclusions.

“Oh, darling,” James says softly and crosses the room. “Because of the lie, the pregnancy? No, of course not. She was old. Her death was natural and inevitable. It had nothing to do with you.”

“You said one more miscarriage would-“

“You had nothing to do with it,” James interrupts him. Daringly, he pulls Regulus into his arms. He comforts with more force than Sirius and Regulus. “She died of old age weeks after you sent that letter. Don’t torture yourself about it, please.”

Regulus exhales slowly in James’ arms. “Don’t let me be a bad person,” he whispers, and James isn’t entirely certain he addressed him.

“You aren’t capable of being a bad person.”

“I am. I am capable of evil. I don’t want to be.”

Even more daringly, James slightly squeezes him in his arms. “You are one of the best and dearest people in the world to me. There is nothing you can do to change that. Always remember that.”

Regulus leans into him for a moment, then pushes them apart. The smile on his lips looks curiously sad.

“It is no mystery to me why your mother calls you Sunshine,” he whispers.

“Really? I never understood why she does that.”

He looks up at him from under his dark lashes, the grey of his eyes dipping into darkish blue in the room's dim light. “How would you? You’ve never met anyone like you before. And you’re far too busy with everyone else to notice yourself.”

James isn’t sure whether he means this positively. He isn’t sure he understands him at all. Regulus steps away from him and pulls the rope next to the bed to call Pandora. He sits down by the dressing table and starts taking the pins out of his hair.

James watches the milky white hands slowly freeing his dark curls. The scene looks like it was taken straight from a painting. He gives up before getting them all out and instead removes his bracelet and gloves. James approaches him and carefully identifies the pins and the shiny hair combs. Regulus watches him through the mirror while he frees his hair. He runs his fingers through the waves. He almost looks like Regulus again with his hair open. James smiles at him through the mirror and pulls on one of the curls to let it bounce back. Regulus rolls his eyes at him, which only makes James grin and do it again.

Pandora comes through the door and stops abruptly when she sees them. James quickly removes his hands from Regulus’ hair.

“Hello, Pandora. Come in. I’ll go to my dressing room.”

When he returns to the bedroom dressed in his pyjamas and a dressing gown, Regulus is already under the covers in bed.

They look at each other awkwardly for a moment. James looks at the sofa.

“You don’t have to sleep there,” Regulus says. “You can sleep here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do I need to worry about you misbehaving?”

“Of course not.”

“Then stop standing there and go to bed. You had a hard day, and tomorrow won’t be easier. You need a proper bed.”

James smirks and saunters over to the bed. “Well, well, well, do I need to worry about you behaving while in the same bed?”

Regulus raises an eyebrow at him. “I changed my mind. You sleep on the floor.”

James chuckles and climbs into bed.

“I mean it. Get out. Floor. Not even the sofa.”

“You don’t mean it. You wouldn’t really let me sleep on the hard floor.”

“I’d give you a second pillow.”

James smiles and pulls the blankets over his body. They lie face to face with the same amount of space between them as this morning. It is less than an arm-length.

“Thank you for making me laugh,” he whispers.

Regulus settles in and smooths the blanket out. “It is still early. Do you want to talk about her?”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

James begins recounting days with his grandma, little trips to London and Rome. He remembers garden parties with her and afternoons he spent with her and his grandfather in the garden at Lioncrest. Regulus listens attentively. He lets him talk and talk until they slowly drift off to sleep.

***

Barty is drunk. James and Regulus will be gone another week, and he decided to sample all the good stuff that James only breaks out when guests are at the house. Barty is a guest. He should be allowed some. Some turned into quite a lot, not that anyone would be there to witness.

He wants someone to witness. In his drunken state, he decides one person in particular has to witness him – whether he wants to or not!

Having nothing else to do, he decided to watch Evan over the last few days. The only thing that accomplished was finding out which cottage belonged to him – it is the one closest to the horses and carriages, shockingly. He shares it with one of the ginger servants, the groomer – are they involved? They better not be involved.

Bottle in hand, he rushes out of the manor and to Evan’s cottage. He lost track of time a while ago. It is dark, but that could mean anything.

“Evan!” he yells and slams his fist against the door. “Evan Rosier! Come out!”

Nothing happens for a while.

“Evan!” he yells again. A window in the neighbouring cottage opens, and a middle-aged woman with red hair peeks her head out. Barty extends his middle finger in her direction. “Evan Rosier! Come out, you cocksucker! Come out, or I'll set your fucking house on fire!”

The door is pulled open, and a tired Evan in a dressing gown stands in front of him. “Are you honestly insane?”

“Yes,” Barty says and pushes his way in.

“What are you doing? Go back to the manor!”

“No.”

“What do you want from me?”

Barty looks around the hallway, then at him. What does he want? He isn’t sure anymore. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t have time for this. Leave.”

Barty crosses the narrow hallway back to him and pushes the door shut. “No!”

“Then what?”

He stares at him. His brain feels fuzzy. Evan looks stupid hot. He isn’t as polished as the ladies and gentlemen he usually has and not as dirty as the criminals he fucks in run-down pubs. He’s somewhere between, having all the prettiness of an aristocratic pedigree and the charm of a rough dockworker who grabs your thighs with callused hands and takes you pushed over a table.

“Kiss me.” He reaches out for Evan’s dressing gown. “Kiss me.”

Evan grabs his wrist and pushes him back. “You’re pathetic, Crouch. Go home. Oh, wait, you don’t have a home. You’re just Lord Regulus’ fucking rescue dog!”

“Yeah? Well, I could have been yours!”

Evan looks at him, confused. “What?”

Barty rubs at his face. “Forget it, you stupid coachman. You’re only upset because you’re jealous that I found Regulus’ bedroom more intriguing than your snoring!”

Evan, still holding his wrist, pushes him against the wall. “Jealous? You were begging me to fuck you, you pathetic child. I bet you lay at home in your bed dreaming about my cock in your mouth after your daddy told you what a worthless piece of shit you are for the third time that week.”

Barty laughs, purposefully hitting his head against the wall behind him. “Better bad parents and money than convincing yourself that Lord Regulus cares about a servant like you.”

Evan’s face twists in anger. He clasps his hand around Barty’s throat. He laughs, and Evan grabs him tighter. He looks so hot in front of him.

“Yes, what’s next? Will you spit on me again? What if I say please?”

Evan’s nostrils flare, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion and aggression, but his eyes spell lust.

Barty grabs his hips and pulls him closer, staring into his eyes, daring him.

Evan curses under his breath and presses his lips against his. He tastes like rainy evenings and shared cigarettes. Barty digs his fingertips into his sides and pulls him closer and closer until their bodies stop each other from becoming one.

Evan snaps his head back and glares at Barty. He grins back at him, dazed from kissing and alcohol.

“What?” he whispers, “Is that your way of saying you can’t resist me?”

Evan slaps him across the face. It isn’t as hard as it could have been. It only stings a little. Barty can barely feel it through the lingering fuzziness. Evan grabs his face and kisses him again, angry, hard, and hot.

Barty can feel a deep shiver rippling through his entire body. Kissing Evan is like the first hit of a cigarette after craving it for hours.

Evan pushes himself away from Barty again. He is breathing heavily, looking at him, his face flushed red. “Now, get out.”

“I could stay.”

“Get out.” He stomps over to the door and rips it open. “Now.”

“Or?”

Evan doesn’t answer him. He grabs his sleeve and forcefully pushes him out of his cottage. He throws the door shut and latches it from the inside.

Barty looks back at the house. He starts laughing.

***

Chapter Text

“Do you think me mad? ‘but who is sane and who is mad? Who is virtuous and who is vicious in this world of ours? Do you know? I don’t.” Teleny 19

Regulus still wears mourning colours in support of James. It means, he gets to wear the brilliantly tailored black suit James commissioned for him in London. It also means, he had an excuse to commission more black suits. He looks good in black. James said so, too.

Regulus sits in the drawing room, leaning over a chessboard. He plays against James, who plays according to “feeling” instead of strategy, which, in turn, drives Regulus mildly homicidal. Barty is sitting on one of the sofas, reading the paper.

“You have a pin in your hair,” James says suddenly.

“It’s your turn. You are aware of that, right?”

“It’s pretty.”

“The curl was annoying me this morning. Your turn.”

James smiles and moves one of his pawns.

The past week that they stayed at Lion’s Keep, James and Regulus had a little ritual every night. Regulus would sit down at his dressing table and James would take all the pins and combs out of his hair before they called on Pandora to help him undress the rest of his clothes. They didn’t talk about it. They just repeated what they did the evening of James’ grandmother’s death. They shared little thoughts they had during the day, and James pulled on the curls and let them bounce back, to which Regulus only rolled his eyes.

Why is he wearing a pin today? They don’t share a room anymore. There is no way James will take it out in front of his mirror tonight. Yet, he sat in front of the vanity this morning, Pandora finished arranging his hair, and when he saw the collection of hairpins in a little bowl, he instinctively took one out and used it to pin back one of the unrulier curls.

Regulus moves his bishop. He will win. James is looking at him.

“James. Your turn.”

James hums. He reaches over the board and carefully pulls the pin out of his hair. “I like it better when your curls are free.” He smiles and turns the pin in his hand. Regulus isn’t entirely certain whether he should be upset that James pulled it out now or glad that he did it at all.

Barty snorts. “I don’t know what I just witnessed, but I hope I don’t have to again.”

James glares at him. “I have a solution: Move out.” He slips the pin into his pocket.

Barty sighs theatrically and stands up from the sofa. “Have you read the gossip column today?” He waves the newspaper around.

“Whatever it is, we don’t want to know,” James says and takes his turn.

“Are you deciding that for the both of you now?” Barty asks and draws a third chair to the chessboard. “My, my, James, you’re turning into a proper, traditional husband. How depressing.”

He opens the newspaper with a flourish and begins to read.

“The reality of a foreign seductress as granddaughter-in-law appears to have been too much for the respected Dowager Countess. During the latest visit of Lord and Lady James Potter, the Dowager’s life came to an untimely end. We can only hope that her last days were peaceful and not filled with the Viscountess’s chaotic whims and lack of sophistication and manners. Tolerating a person as controversial as the new Viscountess could not be expected of many women, not even eternalised figureheads like our beloved Dowager Countess. May she rest in peace, and may the rest of us find comfort in the fact that she will no longer have to witness everything she built being destroyed by the irresponsibility of her grandson.” Barty looks up. “Wasn’t she over eighty? ‘Untimely’ death? This man is insane – and not the good kind of insane.”

Regulus carefully looks at James. He loved his grandmother. The insinuation that it should be comforting that she didn’t have to see what James accomplishes in his life must be maddening.

James wordlessly stands up.

“James,” Regulus tries to no avail. He doesn’t even turn to look at him. He simply walks out of the room.

It isn’t maddening for Regulus. It is rage-inducing at this point. He should be used to that man, Snape, tearing him down every chance he gets. He is probably still paid by Lady Rowena. The fact that these comments always lead back to James and his family is bad enough. But now they link him directly to a tragedy in this family and, worst of all, drag James into this mess. All because of Regulus.

“That man better prays he won’t meet me in person,” Regulus mutters.

“Why not? Sounds like fun.” Barty folds the paper together again. “Speaking of. A few days ago, there was an article I found quite interesting. It was a long-winded, whiny account of James’s courtship of Lily Evans; remember her?”

“Yes. Why should I care?”

“Because our friend Snape basically accused you of chasing Lily out of town out of jealousy. And with ‘basically,’ I mean that is literally what he wrote. Verbatim. ‘The courtship came to a sudden end when Lord James returned from the continent with his new wife.’ Insert ambiguous xenophobic insinuation. They are talking about you like you’re Middle Eastern, not French. Anyway, continued: ‘Miss Lily Evans led a respected and well-situated life in Lyopot, loved by all her neighbours and surrounded by many benevolent friends. Only shortly after the Viscountess’s arrival, it takes Miss Evans out of the Pot to the city of London - on her own. Only days before her departure, Miss Evans was seen visiting Lioncrest for a supposedly final time. A mere coincidence, or could the Viscountess’s jealousy and mistrust in her husband be the source for Miss Evans’ change of address?’ “

Regulus frowns at him. “You memorised that?”

“I have a good memory. I can remember most things I’ve ever read in my life.”

Regulus doesn’t have time to be fascinated by that revelation. Is it possible that Snape knows about the deal with the art people in London? No. No, how would he know?

“Did that article give anything to back up that ludicrous story? How did the Viscountess convince Lilly to leave? I’m intrigued. Tell me what kind of fantastic mastermind I am.”

Barty smirks. “Nothing, of course. It is simply sensationalism. You know that.”

“I know that we should reintroduce the Guillotine in England, like in all civilised countries, and put an end to that man.”

“Why the guillotine of all weapons? There are quicker and more secretive ways of killing.”

“He is making a point of my nationality every chance he gets, not me. So, he can also die by my nation’s weapon of choice, no? Besides, a public execution with a giant guillotine will prevent others from falling in his steps.”

“Following in his step, not falling.”

“Yes, and Guillotine not gell-o-tin. Stop pronouncing an L. There is no L in the word.”

Barty frowns at him and retrieves a pencil from somewhere to write down the word GUILLOTINE and underline the LL.

“You’re pretty loud for someone who cannot pronounce the letter ‘r’.”

Barty smirks and puts the newspaper away. “In all seriousness, should we do something against that man?”

“I could construct a small guillotine. A finger guillotine. Then maybe he can write with his tongue, and I will build a tongue guillotine.”

“I like the way you’re thinking.” Barty nods and leans back in his chair. “I always appreciate a nice hysteria in the middle of the day, but let us be practical. You and I are quite scary. Paired with Scarface and the coachman, we can make that man shit himself with three words or less.”

“If you want to stay here, you should refrain from calling Lupin ‘scarface’. Or James might let me build a guillotine just for you.”

“Oh, Regulus, if you only knew what I would give to be at the receiving end of your mad little brain,” he says dreamily and rests his chin in his hand.

Regulus rolls his eyes at him and snaps his fingers against his forehead. “I will look where James went. I don’t think I should do anything against that man. He will only write something that makes James look bad in response. I will try to give him as little material as possible, then the Viscountess will die, and before I leave town, Severus Snape will have mysteriously vanished.”

“Intriguing. Poison?”

“I won’t tell you. It will be a surprise.” Regulus stands up to leave.

“Oh, by the way, what was that hairpin all about?” Barty asks.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, you know. You put a pin into your hair. You never do that unless you must make it look more complicated than it is as our lovely Viscountess. So, why? And why – and I think this is the important part – why did James just lean over to pull it out?”

“He didn’t like it. Why wouldn’t he pull it out?”

“Because he should be too scared of you to ruin anything about your appearance. You let him pull it out, too. I saw you. Since when are you so physical with each other?”

Regulus sighs, exasperated. “Yes. I put a hairpin into my hair to pin down an annoying piece of hair – that is what these pins are for, believe it or not. James didn’t like it, so he removed it. We were all here. We all saw the same thing.”

Barty cocks his head to the side and smirks at him. “What happened at Lion’s Keep?”

“What do you mean? The Dowager died, and James mourned and helped his parents.”

Barty smirks even more. “Did you sleep with him?”

“What? Non!”

Barty laughs in absolute delight. “Oh, but you wanted to. Did you share a room? Did he watch you undress? Did you share a bed? Oh, did you establish sides in the bed and then one night, his foot accidentally was on your side, and now you are lying awake night for night wondering whether it was intentional? Was it a sign? Or did he just move in his sleep? You will never know. How tragic.”

Regulus blinks at him. “You are insane. This conversation is over. I will look for my husband.”

“Yes, do that. Your husband. Don’t forget to fulfil your marital duties tonight.”

“I will build a Guillotine just for your cock, how about that?”

“Uh, I hit a nerve.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and rushes out of the room. If there is one thing Regulus appreciates about Barty, it’s that he feels very rational and balanced next to the man.

He finds James standing outside in the coldness of early March. He overlooks the gardens while rolling the hairpin in his hand. Regulus watches him for a minute from behind the glass doors.

His hair is wild and tangled from running his hands through it before he found the pin in his pocket. James turns his head to the side. His dark profile contrasts with the sun. The gold rim of his glasses glistens in the light. He looks down at the pin, rolling it between his fingers.

Regulus loves seeing him happy, smiling and laughing at the most unremarkable things. Since his grandmother’s death, he has often been broody and staring into the distance. He does his best to conceal this tendency from his parents, but Regulus has seen him like this a few times. When James came up to their room at Lion’s Keep every night, a soft wave of relaxation seemed to wash over him by the mirror. His little smile was genuine when he bounced his curls. He looks so numbingly handsome when he smiles.

Regulus opens the doors and joins James outside. He turns to him and sighs lightly.

“I apologise for running out. I don’t want Barty to be all up in my… emotions.”

Barty isn’t so bad. Actually, he and James could be great friends, in Regulus’ opinion. But he didn’t come here to discuss Barty’s character.

“I’m sorry they are saying such things about you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“We both know it is. Or at least he uses me to talk badly about you and your family. You know, I never wanted this to happen.”

“I know. I mean it. It is not your fault. Snape has personal problems with me.”

Mentally, Regulus is constructing a guillotine with Snape’s name on it.

“Hey,” James whispers and steps closer to him. “Have I told you lately how glad I am to have you in my life? Let him type his fingers bloody; I don’t care.”

“You care. You wouldn’t be out here if you didn’t.”

“Okay. I care about what they say about my family. I care that they say my grandmother is better off dead than witnessing my behaviour. I care that Snape uses you for his twisted little game.” He reaches out, smooths one of Regulus’ curls back and pins it into place. “He is simply jealous because Lily never chose him, even when she rejected me. Now he is angry because she left town.”

Regulus leans closer to him and whispers, “I could hurt him.”

James grins and shakes his head.

“I mean it. No one is allowed to talk about you like that.”

“What makes you think I’ve done nothing to deserve this treatment from him? You don’t deserve it. Maybe I do.”

“Nonsense. You could have killed his entire family; I wouldn’t care. He is not spreading those stories about you and your family – or me, for that matter – and get out of it without a scratch. Tell me, what did you do to him that was so terrible?”

James bites his lip in shame. “Promise you won’t think differently of me?”

This is ridiculous. James Potter is the personification of kindness and gentleness. There is nothing he could have done to that man that could make Regulus lose affection for him.

“When we were young and both trying to court Lilly, we attended a small fair down in the Pot. He comes from a poor family, and most of his clothes didn’t fit right. His trousers were held up by suspenders. It was summer, and he took his jacket off. When no one was looking for a moment, I sneaked up behind him and cut the suspenders… he stood in only his dirty drawers in front of the whole town and Lilly.”

That is all? A stupid boy prank? Regulus bites his lip to not laugh at him.

“Don’t laugh. It was bad. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“No, you should not have. But that is all?”

“Well, afterwards, he attacked me with a pair of scissors behind a tent.”

“He did what?”

James shrugs. “Nothing happened. Sirius pulled him off and kicked his privates. …We then ensured that everyone in the Pot would call him stupid names, from Snivellus Snape to Severus Stains. …And once, I thought I saw Snape and Lilly out on a date and let Peter spread a rumour that Snape ruined a young girl and fathered her bastard and now refuses to have anything to do with her. The story was quickly confirmed as fabrication, but still…”

Of course, this must have impacted Snape’s life badly. Regulus can see that. But it does not justify Snape’s articles. Also, comparatively…

“When I was sixteen, my cousins came to visit us in Aquitaine with their husbands. Sirius couldn’t be there. I was raised to always be quiet and compliant. I didn’t say anything about the heinous and hateful things they said all evening. Neither did I utter a word when Bella’s new family commented on my dress and my chest and my ‘pretty, well-behaved mouth.’ At night, I went into Cousine Bella’s room, stole her husband’s drawers, then the ones of her brother-in-law and switched them. I left some clothes and a piece of jewellery of one brother in the bed of the other and hid a love note that talked about their secret affair to be found by the servants. Within a day, the entire servants’ hall knew that the brothers were committing sodomy and incest. Worried for my family’s reputation, I, of course, informed Lyon about this rumour. The press had to inform the people what their future politicians were doing behind closed doors, no? They had to move to the north after being released from prison.”

James stares down at him with a horrified expression.

“Is that the cousin who comes to your Ball?”

“Yes. She brings the husband and brother-in-law.”

“And they said what about your body? Why should I allow them to set foot into my house?”

“Because if I am hostile towards them, they will realise I was behind that whole scandal. My point is your little boy pranks do not compare. And they do not entitle that man to write about your family as he does.”

James smiles gently and reaches out to him again. He traces Narcissa’s brooch Regulus is wearing pinned on the lapel of his jacket today. Regulus wants to reach out to touch him, too. He wants to touch him just as gently, though he doubts he is capable of it.

“Maybe you and I are both rotten,” James whispers. He is not even an arm's length away. Regulus suppresses a shudder.

“I may be rotten, but not you. You feel remorse for transgressions far smaller than mine. You could never be as rotten as I.”

“You don’t feel remorse?”

“Not one bit of it.”

James presses his lips together. He is displeased with his answer, but maybe he would have been even more displeased with a lie. Regulus looks at his lips, pinkish and kissable. James lets go of him, and Regulus would have rather told a thousand lies than see him step away.

“I believe remorse grows character.”

“It does,” he agrees. “That’s why your character is better than mine. You are the Sunshine.”

He smiles. “I still don’t know what it means.”

“Maybe you will one day when you meet your own sunshine,” he says quietly. It feels as though he said too much. It feels as though he said everything, but James just keeps looking at him like he is saying nothing at all.

Regulus steps away with a soft smile and goes back inside.

***

After dinner, James, Regulus, and Barty sit in the drawing room together. Barty plays chess with him. James sits by them, betting on Regulus to win while drinking. Like when James watches Regulus playing cards, watching him humiliate other men is far more fun than being beaten at a game himself.

“Is there anything you are bad at?” Barty huffs when Regulus wins for the third time.

“My Russian isn’t perfect.”

The look on Barty’s face is priceless. James chuckles and clinks his glass against Regulus’s. He leans over to him and mumbles, “вы замечательный.” (vy zamechatel'nyy.)

Regulus blinks at him, surprised.

„It means, ‚you are wonderful.’“

„I know. You speak Russian?“

„No, but I know how to say it in like ten languages.“

Barty snorts. „Of all the things to memorise, you chose that?“

„I like complimenting people.“

Barty rolls his eyes and gives Regulus a look that James doesn’t understand.

“Of course you do, Sunshine.” Regulus shakes his head. James still feels weird whenever Regulus calls him Sunshine. It is even better than being called Jamie by him. He thought Sunshine was a simple nickname his mother gave him for reasons that can only be her own. – but Regulus seems to know what is behind it and uses it, albeit sparingly.

Regulus is still wearing the hairpin where James placed it in his curls before. Barty said it looked stupid, but Regulus didn’t remove it.

“Another round?” Regulus offers while placing the pieces.

“No, it’s getting late. You can only lose to a man up to a certain hour before it gets pathetic.”

“You surpassed that time about ninety minutes ago,” James grins and downs his drink. “I’ll go to bed. Good night.”

“I go to sleep, too.” Regulus stands up and follows James.

“Lupin, can you tell Peter and Pandora we’re headed upstairs?” James says to Remus when they pass him by the door.

“I thought about going riding tomorrow,” James announces on the staircase. “Do you care to join me? You can choose any of the horses you wish.”

“Yes, I’d like that. Anywhere specific?”

“No. Just around the estate, up and down a few hills. We can make a day of it.”

They reach Regulus’ bedroom door. “Sounds lovely.”

James smiles, relieved that Regulus didn’t suggest taking Barty with him. Taking Regulus out isn’t something he would appreciate to share with anyone. Except for Sirius, perhaps. Regulus stands with his hand on the handle of his bedroom, looking up at James as if he was waiting for something.

James stands awkwardly in front of him, raking his brain for an excuse to stay. There is no reason for it. He just doesn’t want to say good night yet.

“Well,” Regulus whispers, “Bonne Nuit.” He opens the door behind him and vanishes into the room.

James sighs and turns to walk up to his bedroom a few doors down.

He remembers the hairpin. He has been taking the pins and combs out of Regulus’ hair at Lion’s Keep. It was a soft and calming end to exhausting, grief-driven days. Maybe that is what he is missing right now. Perhaps, he realises, he has been missing it the last evenings since they returned.

He rushes back to Regulus’ door and knocks.

“Come in.”

Regulus sits in front of the vanity. He turns to look at him. The pin is still in his hair. “Oh, it is you. I thought it was Pandora.”

“Are you disappointed?” James jokes. Hopefully not. He hopes, if anyone, Regulus will never be disappointed to see him.

“How could I? What can I do for you?”

He looks perfectly charming, twisting his body in James’ direction, looking over his shoulder, and leaning over the chair. A short curl falls out of place, making him look like a boy who just came in from play.

James slowly approaches the vanity. “Nothing. I just…” He shrugs. He feels silly now. Regulus looks at him expectantly. The pin still holds his hair out of his face on the left side.

James positions himself behind his chair and smiles at him through the mirror. Regulus watches him as he reaches around him and pulls the pin out. He smiles lightly.

“That’s better,” he whispers, pulling at the curl to make it bounce.

“You put it in there. You can’t complain now that it didn’t look good.”

James smirks and bounces the curl again.

“Stop it.”

“I always think you look better as Regulus than the Viscountess. Did I ever tell you that?”

Regulus slowly licks his lip. “No. You never told me that,” he whispers.

He rolls the pin between his fingers. “I think it is why I like taking these out of your hair. Watching you come back.”

“I still have the same face.”

“Yes, but… no. You don’t. The Viscountess never smiles.” He drops the pin into the shallow bowl on the table. “You do.”

Regulus looks at him through the mirror for a long moment with an emotion James cannot place. His cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink. James smiles at him through the glass. Regulus hesitantly smiles back at him.

The door to the room opens, and Pandora steps in. Regulus turns to speak to her. James quickly reaches into the bowl again and takes the pin back out.

“I should go,” James says quickly, slipping the hairpin into his pocket. “Good night, Reg.”

“Night,” he whispers.

***

As James and Regulus leave the drawing room, Barty turns to Remus.

“Hey, Lupin, come here for a moment.”

The man sighs and comes over. “What can I do for you, Mr Crouch?”

“Have I ever told you how delighted I am by your sporadic unwillingness to even pretend you like me?”

Lupin must be in a bad mood (he usually is). He doesn’t even snap back at him but just stares him down.

“I need your help with something.”

“Unfortunately, I have neither time nor resources.”

“I didn’t even tell you what I need you to do yet.”

“I stand by my statement.”

Barty grins. “I think you’ll change your mind. I need you to contact that ghastly reporter, Snape. Tell him you are the butler here and have the most delicious little scandal you are willing to sell to him.”

Lupin looks at him, appalled. “I would never-“

“Yes, yes, I know. No reason to give me the loyalty speech. What I want you to do is to arrange a meeting with him. Best in a non-public place, some alleyway. It needs to be a good point for an ambush.”

He seems to slowly understand where Barty is going with this. “An ambush, Sir?”

“Yes. Lord Regulus cannot go and do anything to him. It would only fuel his stories. I may be no Regulus Black, but I fancy myself quite frightening in the right mood. Promise the man the best and most outrageous stories he has ever heard. Then we’ll meet him and teach him a little lesson.”

Lupin smirks. “Sir, I may never like you. But maybe I will respect you one day.”

“I see, we understand each other. When you made the contact, make sure we take Rosier with us. He has a mean right hook, speaking from experience.”

Lupin rolls his eyes and leaves the drawing room.

***

James and Regulus have been out riding all day. Barty passed the time by compiling a list of dirty jokes about riding and James’ cock. He is rather proud of it, although he doubts Regulus and James would appreciate his genius.

In the afternoon, Lupin approaches him. “I made the contact.”

“Was he interested?”

“Very. Tonight. Behind the Leaky Cauldron. We should leave at eleven.”

“Did you inform Rosier?”

“I did. He said he would join us, but not for you. He wants to prove his loyalty to Lord Regulus again.”

“I thought he would,” Barty says with a smirk. “Eleven. I’ll try to annoy James and Regulus into taking an early night later. Shouldn’t be too hard considering Regulus spent the entire day with that stallion between his legs – and then he is riding the horse, too.”

Lupin rolls his eyes at him. Barty smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. The butler refrains from commenting and turns to leave.

“I’m starting to feel truly undervalued in this house. That was a solid one.”

“Give up,” the man says unimpressed, before vanishing through a servant’s door.

It doesn’t take even half of Barty’s list of jokes to get Regulus and James to leave the drawing room in the evening to go upstairs. Regulus looks exhausted but not happy enough for Barty to believe he got some. What is James’ problem? It is obvious that Regulus wants him. All James would have to do is reach out, kiss him, and that man would be his forever. Idiot. Both of them.

Around eleven, Barty meets Lupin and Rosier out front. “Should we walk down or take the carriage?” Barty asks.

“I don’t know what exactly you are planning, Crouch,” Lupin says, pulling his hat further into his face. “But I would suggest being as inconspicuous as possible. No carriages. No horses. Quiet shoes.”

It’s a steep hill, and Barty hates hiking, but Lupin is probably right.

 “Do you know Snape?” Rosier asks Lupin when they start walking down. So far, he has ignored Barty completely.

“Met him once or twice in the Pot when the staff went to a fair or a celebration. Lady Gryffindor invited him to a few events she had planned. He is an unpleasant fellow.”

The rest of the walk down is rather quiet. Barty keeps thinking of something to say to Evan. He knows his little performance at Evan’s house the other night didn’t work in his favour. He counted it as a win at the time. Evan kissed him. He also slapped and choked him, but Evan knows those things arouse him beyond reason. Be that as it may, it only led to Evan staying out of Barty’s way even more than before. It seems a miracle that he agreed to join them for this.

“For the record,” Lupin says when they get into the Pot. “Is there a plan?”

“Of course. You talk to Snape and make sure you are alone with him in a spot good for an ambush. Then Rosier comes in, beats him bloody, and then I will appear and threaten the living daylights out of him until he won’t dare to write a bad word about Regulus ever again.”

“Regulus and James,” Lupin reminds him.

Barty rolls his eyes at him and pulls a knife out of his coat. “Sure, sure, both. Regulus cares about what they say about James in the stupid paper. I’m inclined to search for an old issue that speaks about the kind of brouhaha James and Sirius caused a few years ago. He thinks higher of these men than reasonable.”

“We should scatter,” Remus says, ignoring Barty again. “Snape will get suspicious if we turn up as a group. You should spy out the alley behind the pub and wait for him and me to come.”

Barty glances at Evan. “Sounds reasonable. Are you coming, Evan?”

Evan goes wordlessly ahead. The alley behind the pub is dark and empty. The tiniest bit of light penetrates the curtains by the backdoor and creates a dim square in the middle of it. Barty and Evan hide on opposite sides of the alley, crouching behind trash and a protruding wall, respectively.

Barty cannot see Evan anymore but keeps staring at the space where he hid. His fingers are itching for another touch of him. He keeps replaying the kisses they’ve shared, the time in the carriage and his room. He doesn’t think about the drawing room or the look of shocked betrayal on his face when he found him in Regulus’ bedroom.

“You used me” – why did Barty do that? Why can he never talk and explain? An old wound on his back pulsates uncomfortably when he thinks about that night.

The backdoor is pushed open. Barty snaps his head in the direction of the two men walking out. One is Remus. The other must be Severus Snape. He can only see the outline of the men. Snape is shorter than Remus, with long dark hair and an angry posture.

“So, the loyal butler Mr Remus Lupin has secrets to tell,” Snape jeers. “The story behind this little indiscretion must be good.”

“Oh, but it is. After you spread it in the county, I will have to sell it to London, too. But it will cost you that you get it first.”

“Figured as much. Don’t you worry. I recently came into a bit of money. I have a rather generous benefactor.”

“Oh, really?” Lupin smirks. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, putting his body demonstratively between Snape and the door. “Does her name happen to be Rowena Tremblay?”

“I don’t talk about my sources.”

Evan steps out of his hiding spot. “Can you call it sources when it’s all lies?”

Snape whips his head around to him. “Who are you?”

Evan chuckles at him. Suddenly, he pounces at the man and pushes him on the cobblestone. Snape’s head hits the ground. Evan traps him there by sitting on him. Snape curses him and yells at Lupin to help him.

“Listen, you little piece of shit,” Evan growls. “You will stop spreading bullshit about the Viscountess, do you hear me?”

Snape spits. Evan brings his fist down at him. He grabs his jacket, lifts Snape off the ground and forcibly smashes his head down on the stone again.

“I asked, do you hear me?” He growls again and connects his fist with his face. He beats at the man mercilessly. The cracking of bone and choked cries echo in the narrow alley. Barty licks his lips. He is god-damn hot like this.

“Rosier, that’s enough. Don’t kill him,” Remus finally demands.

Evan lets go of Snape and spits in his face. His hands are covered in blood. Barty pulls at the scarf around his neck, feeling suddenly breathless at the sight.

He walks down the alley until he reaches the men. He rotates the knife in his hand and crouches down next to Snape.

“Hello there.”

The man blinks at him out of swollen eyes. Barty pushes the blade against his cheek. “I bet I know what you are thinking right now. ‘I will use this to write the most slandering little article this town has ever seen: Viscountess pays thugs to harm up-standing journalist on his quest for truth.’ Let me explain to you why that is a bad idea.”

Snape growls at him. It couldn’t have sounded intimidating even if he didn’t lie on the ground, covered in blood.

“Not that you’d care about truth, but the Viscountess didn’t send us. We are here out of our own volition. What does that mean, you ask? What difference does it make? Simple. It is personal.” He traces the man’s face with the knife. “And when it is personal, it means you will never get rid of us. One more negative word about her, and you will remember this night as a little slap on the bottom in comparison. I know where you live. I know where you work. I know the names of your parents and your friends and your slutty little benefactor. I even know the name of your favourite childhood toy. I know the new address of your beloved Miss Lilly Evans, and I bet I will accomplish what you never could: Get under her skirts and put my bastard child into her belly. And not even then would she touch you with a clipped fingernail.”

“Leave Lilly out of this,” the man chokes out.

“Like you left her out, you mean? ‘Could the Viscountess’s jealousy and mistrust in her husband be the source for Miss Evans’ change of address?’ I don’t know. Here is another one I did not appreciate: ‘The reality of a foreign seductress as granddaughter-in-law appears to have been too much for the respected Dowager Countess.’ Tsk Tsk Tsk,” Barty shakes his head and pokes the knife into Snape’s cheek, not enough to draw blood. “How awfully rude of you. Not to mention all the pretty insinuations about her character and her purity. Now, what will stop me from doing all the things to you that you accused her of doing? You think she ruined Lilly Evan’s life? I will. You paint her responsible for the death of a beloved lady? Oh, I will have stories to tell after I gutted your neighbours. You think she has been in the company of men before her marriage? You will be. And I won’t be gentle about it.”

Snape glares up at him in disgust and fury, face distorted by broken bone, blood and spit.

Barty laughs at him and then pushes the man’s coat aside. He rips the buttons of the shirt and uncovers the skin on his chest.

Snape grunts and curses him, pushing against him and Evan, who still sits on him and holds him in place.

“Take your fucking hands off me!” Snape presses out.

“Consider this your parting gift,” Barty smiles down at him. “Next time you want to type out your pretty little lies, look at your chest and try to remember why that may not be the best of ideas.”

He smiles sweetly and cuts into the man’s chest. Evan reaches out and presses his palm against Snape’s mouth, muffling the cry of pain. Barty carves two jagged lines into the skin.

V

Rather pleased with his art piece, he lets go of Snape and stands up. “I think we’re done here. Anyone fancy a drink?”

Remus, still standing by the door, stares at him horrified. “You are insane,” he mutters. “I’m leaving. I- I don’t want to have anything to do with this.”

Barty chuckles. “Then why did you stay? Huh? Whatever. Run along then.”

Remus shakes his head and rushes out of the alley.

Evan stands up as well. He pushes his foot against Snape’s ribcage one last time before stepping away from him. Barty turns to him and finds himself almost chest-to-chest with him. Evan looks at him, breathing heavily.

“That was fucking hot,” he whispers. Barty blinks at him, surprised. Before he could respond, Evan grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a different, even darker bystreet, leaving Snape where he was.

“Evan, I meant to say-“

“Shut up.” Evan pushes him against a rough stonewall. “The only things allowed to leave your pretty little mouth in the next few minutes are ‘Evan’ ‘yes’ ‘just like that’ and ‘don’t stop’.”

The authority in his voice makes Barty shudder. He reaches out for Evan’s jacket to pull him against him. Evan stops him before he can crash their lips together. Barty needs to kiss him. He needs him like an addict needs an opium pipe: immediately, desperately, life-threateningly.

Evan breathes against him. Barty inhales him, begging him with his entire body to be touched.

Evan doesn’t kiss him. He won’t kiss him. The realisation hits him like a fist to the stomach. Instead, he reaches into Barty’s coat and opens his belt. He drops to his knees and pulls the layers of clothing aside until he has Barty’s cock in front of him.

Barty puts his hands against the rough wall behind him, digging his fingers into the stone and trying to find leverage.

Evan licks his lips and spits on his cock. He uses his hand to spread it along his length and gives him a few sharp tugs. He looks up at him, challenging him to make a noise or say a forbidden word before wrapping his lips around the tip.

Barty moans lowly and harshly bites his lip. Evan takes his soft cock in to the base, then pulls back. He sucks on the head, swirling his tongue around it. Barty can feel his cock grow hard inside of Evan.

“Evan, yes,” Barty mumbles. He lets go of the wall and pushes one hand into Evan’s hair. “Yes, just like that.”

Evan pins Barty’s hips to the wall and harshly sucks his cock, moving his head back and forth, trapping it in the heat of his body and releasing it back into the cold night.

Barty’s brain begins to shut down. Evan tongues the slit and slides his cock back into his mouth to the base.

Barty is rock-hard within seconds of this.

He curses and moans lowly, careful to only use the words Evan allowed him. All his senses are focused on Evan, how hot and soft he feels, and how harshly he pushes him against the wall by contrast. Barty can taste the memory of him on his tongue.  

Barty’s knees are weak. His body is on fire, and every flick of tongue tosses him into an ice bath. Evan’s hair is soft between his fingers. His breath is warm against his skin.

“Yes, Ev- fuck, just like that!” He buries his fingers in Evan’s hair. His climax hits him almost by surprise. Evan tightens his lips around him as he comes in his mouth.

“Oh my god,” Barty whispers, trying to move his hips, frantically trying to get more from Evan. The man swallows around him and then pulls away. He drags his bloodied hand over his mouth.

“Holy shit.”

Evan smirks and stands up. He straightens his clothes. Barty just watches him, not entirely sure he is able to move just yet.

“Evan,” he says quietly, “I just, I wanted to apologise and ask whether maybe we could talk ab-“

Evan scoffs. “Listen, Crouch. You’re handsome and reasonably deranged enough to be a good lay.”

Barty winces at the words.

“But we will never be friends again – if we ever were. You are a bad person. And I’m no saint, far from it, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are bad. You are bad for me, and I don’t want that in my life.” Evan looks at him for another moment as if he is waiting for some sort of answer. What could Barty possibly say to that? What could Barty do besides breaking down? And he surely won’t break down for Evan to watch.

***

The high window in the library oversees a portion of the flower garden. With Spring at the doorstep, the view promises reds, yellows and purples in blinding beauty. James is outside, talking to one of the gardeners, Mr Weasley, and pointing around the garden. Earlier, he said he has plans he needs to talk through with Weasley – without Regulus.

So, Regulus sits inside at the window by the reading space and watches James talking to the gardener. He rolls a hairpin between his fingers. He didn’t wear one last night, and James didn’t come to his room in the evening. He isn’t wearing one today either, and James won’t come.

He needs to stop. He is getting too lost in his adoration for the man. It cannot lead anywhere. James is sunshine, and Regulus will be burned at the end of this if he keeps getting closer.

There are moments, seconds, that make Regulus think, maybe, just maybe, James feels for him too. But he can’t. He can’t love him in the way he needs to. Regulus is losing his mind. He is becoming delusional, seeing things in James’ eyes that aren’t there.

The door to the library is opened and closed, and Barty appears by the sofas. “Hello,” he mumbles and flings himself into an armchair.

“Hello. I see you are in a fantastic mood today.”

Barty extends his middle finger in his direction.

“My mistake. You clearly are the epitome of happiness.”

Barty sighs and looks out the window to see what Regulus is watching so intensely. He snorts when he sees James.

“Keep your comments to yourself, Crouch.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

They sit in silence for a while. Regulus keeps watching James. The gardener is saying something, and James laughs, loud and bright, tossing his head back. The groundskeeper, Hagrid, appears from somewhere. He shakes James’ hand, and James claps his back. He seems to repeat his plans for the garden to him, laughing and joking with the men.

He looks up to the window and catches sight of Regulus. He grins and waves to him. Regulus’ lips stretch into a little smile on their own accord. He waves back.

“Regulus,” Barty asks quietly.

Regulus turns away from James to look at him. Barty looks outside to James, too. His usual smugness is gone. He looks years younger, sitting in the chair with his legs pulled up and head balanced in his palm.

“Do you think I’m unlovable?”

Regulus looks back towards James. He has turned back to the groundskeeper and the gardener. Hagrid slowly leads him away from the flowers, pointing along the estate and pulling James into another conversation away from the house.

He turns the hairpin in his hand, thinking of their conversation a few days ago about remorse. James stepped back from him. He stepped away. Not in anger or disgust, but he might as well have. Unlovable?

“I don’t think it is necessarily that we are unlovable, but we make it really hard for people to love us.”

“You and I both?”

Regulus turns to him again, finding Barty looking at him already. “Isn’t that what you saw when we first met? A kindred spirit? Cut from the same cloth? De la même trempe? We are a little bit mad, don’t trust easily, and pit people against each other with no mercy to achieve our goals. We don’t make it easy.”

“I’d like to say, easy is boring but… I don’t know. Sometimes, I believe I want someone to have the capacity to love me instead of just being excited by me.”

“You are comfortable in your role as antagonist. You rather have people dislike you than know you. I am the same. …Was the same until James.”

“He changed you?”

“No. I only changed for him. I am my old self to most others. Especially those who only know the Viscountess. We make it truly difficult for people to love us because we don’t let them love us.”

“I’d let them,” Barty mumbles.

“Would you? Would you open up about all your secrets and all the people who hurt you? Is there nothing that prevents you from letting people see you? Only when they see you, all of you, can they truly love you. Anything else is one-dimensional. It isn’t what either of us needs.”

Barty shifts uncomfortably in the armchair. “Does something prevent you?”

“Yes. Of course. Look at me. I am a man in the body of a woman.”

“Yes, but… people know that. When people know you are a man, they can love you as such.”

“Can they? Can a man see me as one even when he looks at my body? Will a man be able to see Regulus even when I have to dress up as the Viscountess? Show me the man who can, and I might love him forever. I said to my brother, it is my only condition. I have to be able to trust that someone sees me as a man no matter what others tell him he should see when he looks at me. If that cannot be done, I couldn’t love him. I couldn’t let him love me. And this will prove impossible.” He slowly stops twirling the hairpin and places it on the low table in front of him.

Barty stares at the pin. He looks well and truly defeated. Regulus isn’t sure whether it is because of his words or his own mind.

“Yours isn’t as impossible as you think it is.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You like the good men, you said. The soft and honourable are the ones worth loving, right? If a man is good enough, he will love you. And if he loves you, he must respect you. If he doesn’t respect your manhood, he doesn’t love you. If he respects it, he will respect it always. It is far from impossible. Such men do exist. You know I’d never praise him under normal circumstances, but I am certain that James would be the kind of man to accomplish it with ease. … Me? I’ve been told I’m a bad person so often, it must be true. And a bad person cannot be turned into a good one.”

“You don’t think you can change?”

“I don’t think I’d know how. Worse, I don’t think anyone would stay long enough to see me try.”

“Do you want to change?”

Barty ponders this for a moment. He shifts in the chair again, looking at the ceiling. “I don’t know. What if I change just to find out I’m still unlovable? Or to find out that it’s too late?”

“You cannot pose such a question to me. I am a pessimist. I will only agree and tell you that the risk isn’t worth it. Others may disagree.”

Barty sighs and lulls his head to the side. “Regulus, can you answer a question for me and answer it honestly?”

“I will have to know the question before I can agree to that.”

“Unfair. …Why do you call James ‘Sunshine’?”

“Do I?” He is well aware that he does. He cannot help himself.

“Don’t play dumb with me.”

Regulus picks at his fingernails. “Because he is warm. Because he is golden and beautiful, and his smile reminds me of sunny days at Aquitaine when my brother and I were alone because our parents visited relatives. I felt like I wasn’t a girl already, but it did not depress me yet. I didn’t care for any of it. I only cared about playing with Sirius in the setting sun. …Because my life was dark and rainy, forever midnight and haunted by past and future until James was pushed into it and broke up the clouds like the sun. …Because he is the light of my life. Because he makes me happy. Because sometimes I fear I need him to live, and I will die when he is taken from me.”

Barty chews on his bottom lip, watching him. Regulus is staring at the hairpin. He feels silly saying all of those things. How could he fall so deep?

“Why do you sound so sad when you talk of it?”

“Because it is stupid.” He looks back at him and scoffs. “You don’t think I know it is stupid? You don’t think I know it is pointless? James married me as a favour. He may like me as a friend, but he will never…”

“Love you?”

“Yes,” he whispers. His eyes start to hurt. He clenches his jaw and inhales deeply.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. He loves women only. You know that.”

“Do we know that? He has only loved women so far. It doesn’t mean-“

“Stop.” He says calmly and looks at him. “Don’t. There is no point in making me think there might be a chance. It is cruel.”

“I’m not trying to be cruel.”

“I know. It is, though. I need to stop with these silly thoughts. He carved a way into my stupid heart, and I need to cut him out like cancer before he will hurt me. I don’t know if I could survive it if he hurt me.”

Barty nods slowly and sits up. “We should go to London.”

Regulus looks at him, confused.

“You and I, alone. You need a break from being constantly around him. I need a break, too. Let us take a small vacation in London. One week, not more. I watch you beating men at cards, and I will tell you what a bad man James is so you can learn not to love him anymore.”

“I don’t think you could convince me.”

“Maybe not. Still, we should take a break from men who don’t want us. Out of sight, out of mind, right?”

Regulus hums. “Loin des yeux, près du cœur. Out of sight, close to the heart.”

Barty sighs. “You are so depressing… Actually, come to think of it, there is a person in London - I wouldn’t dare call her a friend – who I think you should meet.”

“Why?”

“I think you would find her intriguing. You’ve been around James without a break for months. Of course, your heart has latched onto him. How could it not? The world won’t end when you part ways. Let me prove it.”

Regulus gives him a long look. This isn’t just about him. Barty is speaking about himself, too. He needs to get away from a man who doesn’t want him. Rosier, probably. Perhaps he is right. It could help to take a break from James and silly hairpins.

“Okay. I agree. Let us go to London. It will be good for me, too. I have stressful weeks ahead of me because of the ball.”

Barty smiles and leans over the table to pick up the hairpin. “We will have a great time. And we won’t even think about silly men with silly hearts and silly smiles. Deal?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Deal.”

***

Chapter Text

"I was young and inexperienced, therefore moral;" - Teleny 54

“To London? With him? Alone?!” James exclaims.

“Yes.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No. It would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

“Purpose? What pur- what is the purpose, Regulus? What is the purpose? Getting away from me?” he stares at him with a horrified expression. His voice falls quiet. “Is that it? Do you want to get away from me?”

“No,” Regulus says gently, “Of course not. We just… need a little break. You and Barty are only fighting anyway, and I’m…” He pauses, desperately trying to come up with an excuse.

The truth is, yes, the purpose is to get away from James for a week, sort his feelings out, and think clearly for the first time in months. He is too hung up on the man already.

“I have a lot of stress with planning the party, and – and the party will be a lot of stress, too. Bella and Narcissa wrote that they would stay for two or three days. I just want a little vacation.”

“Without me.”

“You must do Viscount things. …And with you and Barty fighting, it wouldn’t be much of a vacation, no?”

“But you take him, not me?”

“It was his idea.”

James throws his hands into the air and walks in a circle around the room. “Can’t you see what this is?”

“No. What is it?”

“He’s – He’s trying to… I don’t know. He’s trying to seduce you. He’s going to be alone with you and do things to you!”

“James, do you really, at the bottom of your heart, think that Barty would force himself on me?”

“Well,” he bites his lip, “No. Maybe he wouldn’t go that far, but he would still try, and I-“

“And I can’t defend myself?”

“Yes, you can, but-“

“But you don’t think I will.”

James closes his mouth and looks away from him, clenching his jaw.

“I have no plans to sleep with him. Even though I think we agreed that we could do that. You are free to do it, you remember? So am I.”

“Yes, I remember. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“What do you want me to do? Stay alone all my life?”

“No, of course not! Just… not him.”

Regulus smiles. “I agree. Not him. That is not why we go to London.”

“Still, I don’t like it. London is a big city, and it is dangerous there! And-“

“And I can’t defend myself? And Barty can’t defend himself?”

“I bet he plans on dragging you to that city's most heinous and tawdry corners. I swear if you come back with just one hair out of place, I will-“

“What will you do, Jamie?” He asks with one corner of his mouth tugged up in a smile. He has seen James beating Barty, and he doesn’t put a repetition past him. But that is not the kind of man James wants to be.

“I don’t know. I will hit him again. I will fucking- I will beat the living shit out of him!”

“Huh, that is quite extreme, don’t you think?”

“No! I promised to protect you, and he will not interfere with that.”

Regulus is positively weak for James in his protective state. It is almost enough to cancel the vacation and stay. But he needs to get away. He cannot keep doing this.

“I will go on vacation, and everything will be fine. Then, I’ll come back, and we’ll go on as usual, okay?”

James smacks his lips together and crosses his arms. “I don’t have to like it.”

“No, you don’t have to like it.”

James sighs and walks back to him. “Do you want to open up the house?”

“Open up the house?”

“Yes, stay at Gryffindor House in London, like we did last time.”

“Would that not be weird? The twin of your wife staying at the house without you?”

“No. I mean, who would know? Or care? The butler and housekeeper are there. I’ll have Lupin call on them, make sure they prepare the kitchen and everything.”

“I don’t think that is necessary.”

“Where else would you stay? You said Barty lost his flat.”

Regulus shrugs. “I’m a member of the club because of you. I could stay there.”

“With a maid?”

“I don’t have to bring Pandora. I’m capable of dressing myself.”

“And what about Barty? Where will he sleep?”

“I can vouch for him at the club.”

“Absolutely not. You’ve only been a member since January. You cannot vouch for someone like Crouch.”

“Okay, maybe he has his own club.”

“He doesn’t have a single shilling to his name anymore. He’s only going to drag you into shabby pubs and syphilis-infested hotels. I will send a telegram to the house as soon as possible, and you will stay at Gryffindor house.”

“James-“

“No further discussion about this! You’re going to London with Barty, and I evidently cannot stop you, but I will make sure that you stay in the best place possible.”

Regulus bites his lip. “You are too kind,” he whispers, and he means it. He is too kind. How is Regulus supposed to ever get over him? How could any other man ever come close to him?

James steps closer to him and reaches out as if to touch his cheek. He doesn’t. “Promise to take care of yourself.”

Regulus smiles lightly. “I promise.”

“And Barty better not drag you into some weird, obscure pubs to play illegal card games.”

“I think we both know that he will do exactly that,” Regulus says and laughs at the angry expression on James’ face. “Nothing will happen to me, Jamie. I like that you worry about me, but I’m a grown man, no? Nothing will happen.”

“Grown men can still get into fights. Actually, it is far more likely that you will get into a fight. Men can also be murdered.”

“Murder? Now, that is quite excessive, don’t you think?”

“I just…” he sighs deeply and finally places his hand on Regulus’ shoulder. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you. Is that- Is that crazy? Am I mad?”

“No,” he whispers, “it is very you. I like that. …But don’t drive yourself mad because of me. It will lead nowhere. You will be fine, and so will I.”

James sighs long and deep. “Make me another promise.”

“Anything.”

“When you play cards and win… bring me one of your little trophies, okay?”

Regulus smirks at him. “I will. I promise.”

“Good. I will have Lupin send a telegram to the house. Then I’m going to find Barty and threaten him and tell him to take care of you, or they will have to scrape his remains out of the train tracks.”

“How romantic,” Regulus mumbles. It comes out mockingly, but he doesn’t mean it.

***

James does something peculiar when Regulus and Barty leave the manor. He hugs him. He hugs him tightly for a long minute, having their chests move against each other with each breath and forcing Regulus to memorise his smell.

Barty makes fun of him for it after they boarded the train.

The butler at Gryffindor House is called Prewett (which Regulus is almost certain is also the surname of the first two footmen, Gideon and Fabian. He must ask James why this entire family is never leaving their service). The Housekeeper is his wife, likely the mother of the Prewett boys. Prewett is evidently dissatisfied with the new arrangement and keeps looking sceptically at Regulus and Barty. He wasn’t here when they last visited because they brought Lupin, so Regulus isn’t sure whether Prewett knows Regulus’s other identity. He looks scandalised when he understands that Regulus has a woman to tend to him and help him dress instead of a proper valet, so he probably doesn’t know about Regulus and the Viscountess.

Regulus insists on going to the theatre. James gave him a generous allowance for his vacation with the strict instruction to spoil himself rotten and not let Barty gamble it away. Barty is bored by the theatre, as it turns out. He is so bored that he starts flirting with a random Lady during intermission and invites her to their box for the rest of the play.

“Hey, Regulus, cover for me. Make sure her husband doesn’t see us,” Barty whispers to him at some point and then vanishes with the Lady for about thirty minutes. Regulus decides then not to take Barty to the theatre ever again.

“Just out of interest,” Regulus says when they leave the theatre, “how many bastard children do you have jumping around? Approximately?”

Barty smirks and winks. “Why? Do you want one and need to know which number they are?”

“As if I would let you come near me with that thing,” he vaguely gestures towards his lower half. “Who knows what kind of venereal diseases you have. If my coachman takes ill, I will blame you.”

“Don’t worry, Rosier only buggered me, he can’t get sick from that.”

Regulus blinks, confused. “I don’t know what that means, and I’m not entirely sure I want to.”

“And I thought you French are brought up with more knowledge than us. Not the girls, I imagine – no offence.” Barty smirks, and Regulus rolls his eyes at him. “Okay, well, when a man wishes to get his chimney swept out, and he finds another man who is tired of the taste of the Ivory Gate, that man may push the Old Hornington up the first man’s posterior.”

Regulus can feel his face heating up. “Congratulations, you just accomplished what my brother has tried to do for years – you traumatised me.”

Barty throws his head back and cackles like a mean witch. “Shall I explain the details and pleasures of sucking cock?”

“I know about that… in theory.”

Barty chuckles. “Oh, in theory. I’m sure James will like it in theory.”

Regulus’ face gets even hotter. “Who said anything about James?”

“I did. If you want, we can always do a practice round.”

Regulus hits his shoulder. “If I tell James what you’re saying to me, he will kill you. You are aware of that, yes?”

Barty shrugs. “A month ago, I would have doubted that whole-heartedly. But I must admit the man can give a beating if he wants to. I never thought he’d want to… then you came.”

“He promised my brother to take care of me. He takes his tasks very seriously and is loyal to Sirius.”

Barty hums. “And you are sure that is the only reason?”

“Very sure.”

Barty sighs theatrically and clicks his tongue. “Oh, Reggie,”

“Don’t call me that.”

“James calls you that.”

“You’re not James.”

“Ouch. Anyway, tomorrow you need to sleep in the afternoon, and after dinner, I will show you one of my favourite places in the city.”

Regulus has no idea what one earth could constitute a ‘favourite place’ for someone like Barty. Actually, he has too many ideas: Various brothels, underground sex shows, secret homosexual parties, orgies, gambling spots, and historical murder sites. Come to think of it, Regulus hopes it will be the historical murder site. That sounds interesting.

“Just tell me it isn’t a brothel.”

Barty shrugs. “Not on Tuesdays. Trust me, we’ll have fun. And you’ll keep your little virginity protected for the right Lance of Love.”

“Sometimes I just want you to shut up. Forever.”

Barty smirks at him and winks obnoxiously.

***

The place that isn’t a brothel on Tuesdays is reached by descending two sets of stairs in a hidden nook in an alleyway. Regulus is certain that even if it isn’t known for it, this place must be a murder site.

Barty finally halts in front of a non-descriptive door that only stands out from the rest of the house by a small, round window in the middle of it.

Before they left, Barty instructed him to wear his least fancy clothes. Regulus understood why the further east they went.

“Ready?” Barty smirks at him.

“I’m not sure what for, to be honest.”

“Playing cards, of course.” He knocks on the door in a strategic pattern and then gives a password before the men are admitted into the house.

The low-lit room is filled with smoke and the smell of stale alcohol. A dark wood bar stretches along the side of the room with two young men washing glasses, pouring drinks and laughing with the men sitting and drinking. At least one person sitting at the bar is passed out. The rest of the room is decked out in gambling tables. Men are smoking and playing cards while flirting with a black woman, who is walking around selling cigarettes and bringing more drinks.

“Hope you brought money.”

Regulus forces himself not to start smiling from ear to ear. Barty touches his back and leads him over to the bar. “Oi, McKinnon,” he yells. One of the men looks up and rolls his eyes before coming over to them.

“Crouch, I thought I told ya to not let yerself be seen 'ere until ya can pay yer bills. You still owe me a pony, mate.“

Regulus blinks at him confused and suddenly realises that he is not a man at all. A young woman with blond hair sticking out from her hat leans over the counter in a tattered waistcoat. The chain of a gilded pocket watch scratches over the sticky bar.

„Regulus, let me introduce: Marlene McKinnon. One of my biggest haters.“

„That’s a long list, so that must mean something,“ Regulus says, shaking her hand. She grins at him.

„Huh, yer look well minted. Yer gonna cough up what 'e owes me, ain't ya?”

“What does he owe you?”

“Twenty-five quit.”

Regulus looks at Barty with raised eyebrows. The man just shrugs with a smirk. “You would be so kind, would you?”

“Is that why you brought me here?”

Barty scoffs. “What do you take me for? No, I brought you to play, of course. Though, if you would pay her, I’d be most obliged.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and pulls the money out of his pocket to hand it to the blond woman.

“Right, then, wot'll it be, lads? Grab a table wherever ya fancy.” She stuffs the money into her shirt.

“Two pints of the usual,” Barty says with a grin.

McKinnon puts two pints in front of them, and Barty leads him to one of the gambling tables.

“Let me guess. You’ve only gambled rich, upstanding men in Lord Jamesie’s Gentlemen’s Club, right? This will go a bit different. Don’t expect a fair game.”

This is finally starting to sound like fun.

Barty gets them cigarettes and continuously supplies them with watered-down beer. The men at the table cheat and are mean drunks, throwing around curses in cockney, and at the other side of the room, two men start a fistfight. The air is thick, and more smoke than oxygen at one point. Within the playtime of the first game, Regulus loses all sense of time. It doesn’t matter. He is reading the faces at the table and counting cards in his head while moving from one game to the other.

They are in the last round of a game of Poker. The establishment has cleared out over the past hour. It is just their table, surrounded by McKinnon, the black Cigar-girl, and a series of onlookers who have been losing to Regulus and want to watch other men get humiliated in the same fashion. Barty is positively drunk, cheering him on. He slings his arm around another man, mumbling, “That’s my best mate, can you believe it?” To which he is called a “Posh wanker” but good-naturedly slapped on the back.

One of the men across from Regulus is about twenty years older than him with a wild, animalistic face and a mouth that looks like it froze mid-growl.

“Fuck it,” he mutters and pulls on a band around his neck. He tosses it on the table. “All in.”

A gold ring sparkles at the end of the band. It is far too fancy for a man as rugged as that, who is so bad at cards. The ring is in pristine condition and should be the right size to fit James. Regulus promised to bring him a trinket he won at cards.

Most other men at the table leave the game at this, unwilling to lose the last bit of their money, too.

Regulus looks at his cards, then at the man who bet the ring. “Alright then. All in it is. Show.”

The man sitting across from him grins ear to ear, his excitement uncontainable. With a flourish, he confidently lays his cards on the table for all to see. The assembled crowd falls into a hushed muttering. He displays a respectable hand—a Straight, making a nice picture of 6-7-8-9 before him.

Regulus smirks with one corner of his mouth and lies down his cards. Four of a Kind, 7-7-7-7.

“Reg wins!” Barty shouts in delight, and his half of the crowd erupts in deafening, drunken cheers (half of them is probably unaware why).

Regulus snatches the ring from the pile and inspects it. It is a few years old and has a delicate pattern etched into it. It isn’t a rarity but special enough to be gifted to a sweetheart.

"Awright, mates, that's well enough. Clear off!" McKinnon claps her hands and sends the drunkards and the angry losers out.

Barty flings himself into a chair by the bar instead of leaving. Regulus joins him reluctantly. “Shouldn’t we go as well?”

“What? No, no, Reggie,” he slurs his words a bit and leans over to him.

“Don’t call me that.”

Barty chuckles. “Oh, you’re so precious. I wanted you to meet my friends.”

“You don’t have friends.”

“We ain’t yer ‘friends’, mate,” McKinnon says, joining them behind the bar. “E 'ad this bleedin' brilliant idea that you should 'ave a chinwag with me missus.”

Regulus blinks at her confused. He mostly just guesses what she is saying and isn’t sure he is doing a very good job at it. He leans over to Barty, whispering, “Do you understand her?”

Barty just laughs at him. “Trust me, it’s easier to understand when you’re drunk.”

“Oi, Dorcas,” she calls through the room and waves to the black woman. She comes over to them with a gentle smile on her lips. Her coily black hair is tied back and fixed with pins and combs. She is several heads taller than Regulus, with a slender figure clad in a green dress that looks homemade, but not in a bad way.

She sits down next to Regulus at the bar.

“I'll pop off and sort out them glasses while you pair 'ave a chat. Dorcas, keep an eye on Barty, make sure 'e ain't filchin' from the bar.”

Regulus starts to dread whatever accent Dorcas will use on him in a minute.

“I love lesbians,” Barty mutters, “She’s great, isn’t she? A pain in the arse but funny.”

Dorcas rolls her eyes at him. “Well, wot's the reason for us 'avin' a chat, then?”

Her accent is a bit softer than McKinnon’s. Regulus almost sighs in relief.

“Dorcas, you must speak proper English with him, or he won’t understand you.”

“Proper English,” she says with a pronounced posh accent, “My, my, what will the good Lord think of me if I dare not speak like a little princess?”

Regulus chuckles to himself.

“Whatever,” Barty clumsily leans over the bar, “The important part is: Dorcas here was born a man and is now a woman. Regulus was born a woman and is now a man.” He points from one to the other with a flourish only drunk people can perform adequately. “Discuss.” He heaves himself over the bar, falls on the ground with a loud thud and then cheers to himself.

Regulus ignores him and stares at Dorcas surprised. He would have never thought she hadn’t been born a woman. It seems a silly thought to think. After all, that is precisely how he wants people to perceive him – not being able to tell that he wasn’t born a man. Dorcas is beautiful and tall, with a slightly deep but soft voice. She wears subtle, strategically-placed makeup, and her clothes accentuate her hips, narrowed waist, and bust. He thought, theoretically, logically, there should be more people like him. Statistically, speaking in terms of probability, if Regulus is not insane, there must be people who agree with him – and he refuses to think of himself as insane when it comes to this. And there she sits. The answer to his logic, his theories, and his probabilities. “You…”

She smiles and shrugs. "You can barely tell, can ya? People are so easily convinced 'cause they never dare to think anyone would break their precious little man-man woman-woman system. Most folks reckon Marley's a bloke at first glance 'cause she runs the house and dons a suit."

Regulus strategically doesn’t mention he made the same mistake. “But she’s still going by ‘she’ and her name?”

"She ain't like you. She's a woman. A woman who's got a stronger fancy for them wearin' dresses than the dresses themselves." She winks at him.

“And you, pardon my curiosity, but you live as a woman, fully?” He sounds like a child who just learned of the possibility of getting ice cream for dinner. He wants to evict the tone out of his repertoire completely.

“Yeah, see, this place is technically mine. I’m the one who coughed up the brass, but Marley runs the joint. My old self don't have to show his face here. An' you know, women here ain't expected to chatter much, so not many folks have the chance to be right put off by me voice.”

“You sound very feminine.”

A bright smile grows on her face. "Ta. It's all about practice, innit? Determination can take ya far if you know how to work folks. From your card game, I reckon you know 'ow to work ‘em."

Regulus smiles with one corner of his mouth.

“By your question, I reckon you’re not all done up like this ‘round the clock?”

Regulus bites his lip and shakes his head. “I’m from France.”

“I'd 'ave never figured it from the way you talk.".”

He rolls his eyes at her. “My brother arranged my marriage to one of his best friends to get me away from my parents. Now, I can live in England as myself most of the time. Everyone at the manor knows and accepts me. Here in London, no one knows. They just take me at face value. But he is a Viscount, so sometimes I have to dress up as the Viscountess and play the part of his wife for functions and festivities and stupid bloody dance balls.”

“I got a soft spot for dancin', especially at them fancy balls, but I don't get the fancy invites, I don't.”

Barty emerges from behind the bar with two bottles of liquid in his hands. “You could come to Regulus’ ball.”

"Oh, crikey, nah," she chuckles, "If yer bloke's a Viscount, his lot'd probably faint at the sight of someone like me settin' foot on their fancy land as a guest."

Regulus involuntarily thinks back to the family’s history in the slave trade. “Not all of them. My husband would welcome you.” He looks over to Marlene, who is coming back to them with a stack of empty glasses. He bites his lip. “Is she… is yours a marriage like mine? Did you marry her so you could live like this?”

“I ain't got a clue what yer marriage is like, but when I tied the knot with Marls, it was 'cause I loved her, and she loved me right back. She knew me like this before she knew me as a bloke. We fell for each other, you see. Tellin' her was the bleedin' toughest thing I ever did. I thought she'd give me the boot... but she didn't. No, she married me. She said, we ought to find the silver linin': We can legally wed and even have our own little ones if we fancy it. That makes up for some of the rough patches, not all of them, mind you, but surely some.“

Marlene accepted her? Accepted this? And loved her still? As a woman? If she can have this… maybe.

“And she still sees you as a woman even without the dress and all?” he asks and quickly bites his tongue. “Pardon. I don’t want to be insolent, and it is surely none of my business. It’s just…”

"It's just... you're a young lad who's been raised on them romantic novels, and now you're scarin' yerself into thinkin' you'll be left on yer lonesome, ain't ya?"

Regulus pockets his hand and turns the ring he won at cards between his fingers. “I just cannot imagine a man looking at my body and still seeing me as a man,” he whispers.

“Oh, bless yer heart,” she says softly and waves Marlene over to her, “I used to have thoughts like yours, didn't I, love? We’ve all got our person somewhere, and they know how to love us right.”

The blond woman chuckles and kisses her wife’s lips. “Listen, mate, me missus is a proper woman. Always was, always will be, and I ain't changin' me mind 'bout that. Don't matter a fig what folks think I ought to call 'er just 'cause she's got a few extra bits down there.”

Dorcas gently hits Marlene’s arm. “Marls! Steady on, love! You'll give the poor nipper a shock.”

“He’s not as delicate as he looks but far more than he pretends to be,” Barty laughs. “He’s just worried because he fell in love with his husband and thinks he could never love him back.”

Marlene looks up. "Oi, Barty! I said 'ands off the bleedin' booze!" She hoists herself onto the bar and jumps over to grab the bottles from him.

Barty pouts and melodramatically throws himself over the bar.

Dorcas ignores them both. “If yer husband's decent enough to tie the knot with ya and let ya be yerself under his roof, especially with his status, well, that's half the battle, innit? Why wouldn't he be able to love ya?”

“Because,” Barty cuts in before Regulus can answer, “all evidence suggests he is only interested in women. You know, besides his taste in friendships, spouses, his behaviour, personality, and how he looks at this one like he invented the night sky all by himself.”

Dorcas looks back at Regulus with raised eyebrows. “Then whot’s the problem?”

“Don’t listen to him. Barty is delusional. …Even if James could develop romance for me, how could I ever know whether it isn’t because I have the body of a woman? Maybe your wife can see you as a woman all the time because she only likes women, but if James only likes women, how could he love me as a man? And not get distracted by the obvious?”

“Oh, that’s a tricky one.”

“Nah, it ain't that 'ard. Just ask the bloke if 'e fancies fellas, if 'e loves ya, and if 'e can see ya as a fella while plunging his Jiggling-bone into your front window.”

Regulus only understood half of that, but he still blushes furiously at her words, sending Barty into a fit of giggles.

“Shit, McKinnon, you broke him.”

“I can’t – I can’t just ask him such things.”

“Why not? Yer French.”

“Oui. Rich country-girl French, not Parisian Brothel French.”

“Ah, all the same, innit?”

Regulus just slowly shakes his head. His face is burning red. He knows it without a mirror. Barty, still giggling, comes back to the front of the bar. “Well, Ladies, before this evening takes a turn that his husband will murder me for – trust me, he threatened it in a thoroughly heterosexual way – we should be going home. It’s got to be five by now.”

“Five?” Regulus exclaims, “How?”

“Well, time passes, you see and-“

“Oh, shut up. Let us go home.” He looks back to Dorcas and Marlene. “It was really nice to meet you. Thank you.”

Dorcas smiles at him and leans closer, touching his shoulder. “Y'know, Marls ain't wrong. When ya stop lettin' fear get the best of ya and just have a chat with the fella, you'll go a long way instead of drownin' yerself in doubt and worry. Love's somethin' we all deserve. Even that daft mate o' yours, Crouch.”

And somehow, something about her makes Regulus more inclined to believe it coming from her lips than from Sirius’s or even his own.

***

Regulus quickly adopts sleeping in the afternoon and staying awake all night with Barty. He drags him to McKinnon's establishment again (it isn’t a brothel on Wednesdays and Thursdays either, and Regulus begins to believe it never is a brothel.)

On Friday, two days shy of the morning on which they are set to go back, Barty brings him somewhere else.

“No more gambling tonight. James will blame me should you come home an addict.”

“He showed me the game to begin with. He has no one but himself to blame. Where are we going?”

The Hansom cab is going further and further east. The streets get darker, and the passerbys look more drunk and dirtier.

“Oh, trust me, you’ll hate it, but it will be fun.”

“That’s a contradiction,” Regulus points out while watching a man and a woman stepping out of a by-street; she is wearing a red, thin dress, and he is in the process of closing his trousers.

“No brothel, right?”

Barty gasps, appalled. “Regulus Black, you are my dearest and oldest friend. I would never bring you to a brothel in the east end. Only the best establishments for you.”

“Oldest? We met less than four months ago.”

“Ugh, don’t say such depressing things.”

They halt in Whitechapel. The prospect of visiting historical murder sites sounds less compelling by the minute.

Regulus has the Ripper case memorised, and the place where Barty leads him now is not part of it.

It doesn’t look like much from the outside. It is a pub like every other with a crooked sign above the door announcing, “To the 3 Broomstix”. Regulus can hear a multitude of sounds from within, music, laughter and shouting. Mostly shouting.

“We came all this way for a pub?”

Barty clicks his tongue. “You’ve only been to rich people public houses so far. This is a real pub.”

Barty opens the door, and a wave of smoke, funny smells and yellow light rolls over them. The volume of the voices more than doubles.

Barty leads him inside and to the bar past dirty and sweaty men clinking their pints and telling lewd jokes. People are shouting at the bartender. The ground is sticky, and beer spills over the edges of glasses and lands on the tables more often than in the men’s mouths.

At the other side of the large room, a makeshift stage hosts enthusiastic musicians and a short, black woman singing her heart out. A few people are dancing in the space by the stage.

Barty pushes himself between two large men, one with a curious moustache but no hair and one with too much hair except on his chin, and asks for beer. He is ignored until Regulus pushes a pound in his hand to wave. They have their beverages within seconds.

Regulus doesn’t enjoy the taste of beer very much. Barty keeps shoving drinks into his hand, ranging from shots of brown liquid to pints of half-decent beer.

A little time later, Regulus is drunk. The world around him is a bit blurry, and the yellow light bleeds into every solid object. It’s an impossibility, but it happens right in front of him again and again. He laughs to himself and downs the next shot Barty offers him.

“How do you feel?” Barty shouts at him.

Regulus thinks very hard about this answer. “Warm. …Fuzzy. That’s so messed up! Barty, Barty, I feel fuzzy. Barty, I’m a carpet!”

Barty tosses his head back and laughs. The picture registers minutes before the sound becomes distinctive to him.

“Fantastic! Let’s dance, yer old carpet!” Barty says to his ear in a mock-up of McKinnon's cockney accent.

Barty takes his arm and pulls him to the other dancing men. “Take a good look and try to remember the steps,” He instructs him.

Regulus watches them and their feet. The woman sings a modern, lively song that Regulus has never heard before. That’s how he knows it is modern.

“Hey, Barty!” he whispers. At least, he hopes he whispers. He isn’t entirely certain he accomplishes it. “I have never seen an African before this week, and now I’ve seen two in a few days. Isn’t that crazy?”

Barty looks around them with an uncertain grin. “Not so loud, Regulus. And Dorcas isn’t African. She was born in Shadwell.”

Regulus starts giggling uncontrollably at that.

Barty grins and pats his shoulder. “Very mature, Monsieur.”

English is way too hard right now, anyway, so Regulus switches to French. “Still, I have never seen black people before now. We own land in Algeria, that is in Africa, did you know? But I have never been there. Jamie told me how his family used to own slaves, and he feels terrible about it, and all I could think was- did we have slaves? Do we have slaves? I don’t know. Isn’t it mad that I don’t know? Isn’t it crazy?”

Barty looks at him, puzzled. “Listen, Regulus, I speak sexy French and schoolbook French, not whatever that was.” He grins, “Let us dance.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“Just follow my lead,” He laughs and pulls him into the crowd.

Regulus lets himself be pulled. He just looks at Barty and the others and tries to imitate what they are doing. His drunk brain tells him he is doing a good job  - Barty's laughter makes him doubt that. It doesn’t seem to matter. Most men and women here are drunk and keep falling out of step and bumping into each other. It appears to be some kind of group dance with a fairly easy pattern. – fairly easy for a sober person. Barty drags him along to the music and makes sure he doesn’t mess up too badly.

The Singer pauses after her song and earns a round of applause. Barty cheers her on.

The woman grins brightly at the crowd and curtsies theatrically. “So, me dear lads and lasses, it be time to find yuhself a sweetie and dance up a storm!"

“Well, Reg, go find yourself a girl to dance,” Barty exclaims.

“I don’t even know what we’re dancing.”

“Just watch and follow,” Barty winks and asks the next best girl to dance with him. The young woman gladly accepts. A few blond hairs came loose from her simple updo, and sweat glistens on her forehead.

The singer starts her next song with the band playing a Polka tune. Regulus forces his way through the crowd to get some water. His hair sticks to his nape, and his clothes are tight and hot. He still feels rather fuzzy, but it’s getting uncomfortable, like a sticky carpet.

He gulps down the water and sighs. He looks back towards the dancing crowd. Pairs of men and women are hopping around, more or less on beat. The men lead their partners from one side of the room to the other, laughing and trying to sing with the black woman on stage.

A young woman sits at the bar, looking towards the crowd, too. She sighs and sadly turns away from them. She catches Regulus’ eyes. She blinks, surprised and smiles shily. She is wearing a dress that might be on the nicer side for a working-class girl.

She is one of the few women not dancing at the moment, and quite obviously not by her own volition. Regulus realises he is one of the only men in her age range and, honestly, the most attractive one.

Regulus has never asked anyone to dance before. It is traditionally ingrained in everyone that the men ask the women to dance. Regulus never had the chance to do it before.

He pulls his clothes straight and walks up to her. He thinks about Dorcas and what she said about practising with her voice. He decides to pronounce his accent harder when he approaches her. “’ello, how come a pretty woman like you is without a dance partner?”

She giggles shily and shrugs. Regulus extends his hand. “I cannot promise I’m any good, but would you like to dance with me?”

“Yes, very much.”

Regulus isn’t interested in the woman, but the whole interaction makes him feel giddy and excited. Excited enough to not even care, he is about to make a fool of himself in front of other people. The alcohol helps with that, too.

He takes the girl through the crowd to dance with others.

“I can show you the steps,” she says, smiling and promptly starts dancing to the music. Regulus does his best to keep up with her, copying the other men and following the song from the woman on stage.

Barty appears with his girl close to them at some point and laughs. “I will so tell James about this.”

Regulus rolls his eyes at him but wonders whether James would get jealous because of this, too. It would be rather fun if he did.

The girl laughs while they dance among the other pairs. They look pretty good, Regulus would claim.

“Betsy!” a man yells from somewhere. The voice bleeds together with the rest of light and sound. The alcohol is still working in his system.

“Oi, Betsy!” The girl in Regulus’ arms looks up, alarmed. Regulus turns and finds himself face to face with a broad-shouldered, red-faced man stinking of booze. “Wot's goin' on 'ere, eh?"

The girl quickly pulls her hands away from Regulus, who lets her go without resistance. The dancers in their immediate vicinity stop and look at them with faintly veiled interest.

The man shoves Regulus’ shoulder. "Oi, you bleedin' numpty! What's yer game, dancin' with me bird?"

“Bird?” Regulus asks confused. His drunk brain can only guess he means the girl, but he cannot say with certainty whether ‘bird’ means woman, girlfriend, wife, sister or daughter. Somehow, he feels like the specifics could make a big difference here.

He shoves Regulus again when he needs too long to answer.

“Hey, mate, calm down,” Barty appears from somewhere. “This is just a misunderstanding, isn’t it? They were just dancing.”

The man snorts. “Wot are you two posh blokes doin' 'ere anyhow? Marchin' in, nickin' our birds. Typical of you well-off types." The man spits in Barty’s face.

“Hey!” Regulus steps in, the alcohol obviously driving him mad, “Don’t you dare!”

“Reg, shut up,” Barty hisses at him.

"Sling yer 'ook!" the man growls and pushes Regulus again.

“Get your greasy hands off me!” Regulus shoves him back.

“You. Idiot,” Barty sighs.

Regulus looks at him confused for a moment – until he is promptly punched in the face.

He feels the impact before the pain. A woman or two screech in shock. Bellowing voices start yelling at each other. More women start screaming. Regulus shakes his head to clear his vision. A throbbing pain spreads through his entire face, and his eyes begin to water. Another man pulled him back as if he was about to hit him back.

Regulus had no intention to hit the man back. It would have amounted to a tickle, probably.

Barty, on the other hand, is kicking and punching the man.

“Barty!” Regulus yells. He is drowned out completely. Another man shouts something. Regulus is let go, and people are piling on top of each other, throwing fists and shouting slurs at each other. Regulus stares at them in shock. Someone has a chair and uses it as a bludgeoning weapon.

The dancing crowd turned into a mess of bodies, blood, spit, and screaming. Regulus feels considerably less drunk and more sticky-carpety by the second.

“Fuck you, you fucking flapdoodle!” Barty shouts from somewhere.

Regulus tries to push through the other men to reach the origin of the voice. An elbow lands in his face and another in his stomach, making him half glad he wears a corset. Barty is in a fistfight with a man who is not the red-faced man from the beginning. He might just be punching an unrelated party, and he probably doesn’t care. His knuckles and nose are bloody, and his hair looks soaked in booze. He grins while trying to keep a man from wrapping his hands around his throat.

“Barty,” Regulus yells over the noise of punching and shouting. He grabs his shoulder as hard as he can. “Let’s get out of here!”

Barty looks at him, and something about Regulus’ face must make him agree with the plan. He kicks off the guy he’s engaged with and hurries to get out of the flesh knot with him. He blindly runs into another man with full force. Regulus pulls him back, but his drunken reflexes aren’t quick enough to stop the impact.

“Posh fuckers,” the man growls and grabs Barty’s jacket with both hands.

Regulus pulls Barty back and readies himself to kick the man when a loud crash comes from behind him. Glass shatters on his head, and stale beer runs down his face.

The singer pushes him aside, looks at Regulus and says, “Come wit' me, yuh dunces!”

***

Sarah Forbes Bonetta Frances Gqoba

I guess this is how I'd envision Dorcas

Chapter Text

“for what is morality but prejudice?” Teleny 54, continued.

The singer swiftly leads them through a back door, across the alley and through a little red door.

"Hush up. I'll take yuh to me place and check dem wounds. Yuh shouldn't be showin' yuh faces 'round the bar for the next hour,” the singer whispers while quickly running up a set of narrow stairs.

Regulus wonders in the back of his head whether the woman is going to kill them. What woman in her right mind leads two strange men into her flat? Barty seems to have zero trust issues in this regard and follows her blindly.

“Oi, what’s your name?” Barty asks while the woman unlocks a door.

“Mary. Now, hush yuh mouth. Step inside."

Barty and Regulus enter the flat. The singer follows, locks the door and turns on the light.

The flat is old and smells like foreign spices and mould. It is decorated with little nick-nacks and crude sketches of the singer and other black people.

“You live here alone?” Barty asks.

“No. Sit down over there.” She points at a tattered old couch that may or may not have been red at some point.

Regulus looks at it and decides to stand. His face is still throbbing in pain. He carefully touches his cheek and winces. Barty looks over at him and inhales sharply.

“Oh, shit, James is going to kill me.” He bites his lip and chuckles. “Oh, you idiot.”

“How am I the idiot?”

“You picked a fight in a pub in the East End with a bloke twice your size. You might be madder than me.”

Mary must have left them a minute ago. She now reemerges with a bowl of clear water and a rag. "Yuh friend is spot on. Yuh ah real idiot."

A door opens on the other side of the room, and a woman steps out. “Who is hurt?” she asks, carrying various things in her arms. Regulus looks up. He is instantly stone-cold sober.

The woman is wearing a simple blue dress, and her long red curls reach down to her waist. She stares right back at Regulus.

“Miss Evans?” Barty asks, confused.

Lily Evans. What is she doing here in this little run-down flat? Regulus is so shocked that he sits down on the sofa. Mary wets the cloth and starts dabbing it on his face.

She slowly approaches the men. “My apologies, my Lord. I did not know who Mary brought home.”

“Lord?” Mary asks. "Him neva dance like no Lord."

“Mary, this is Lord Regulus Black, the twin brother of the Viscountess I’ve told you about. Lord James’ wife.”

“Ah,” she says, looking at him curiously. Regulus could swear the next time she taps his face with the cloth, is less gentle than before.

Barty clears his throat. “Not that anyone cares, but I’m Barty. My father’s a Baron doing some dumb things in politics.”

"Yuh right, man. Nobody nah bizniss."

“Mary,” Lily half-whispers half hisses at her friend, crouching down beside her. “These are noblemen. They’ll be insulted when you talk like that.”

“Talk like what? Mi accent or di badwud dem?"

“Both.”

Regulus almost tells her that he isn’t put off by the accent (though he understands only half of what the woman is saying), but he can’t get a single word past his lips.

Lily inspects Regulus’ wounds.

“Was Lord James with you?” she asks quietly, looking at Barty.

Regulus’ mouth is uncomfortably dry. He clears his throat. “No. Mr. Crouch and I are alone.”

“Oh,” she smiles faintly and starts cleaning his wounds instead of Mary. “I thought you only spoke French.”

Right. James told her that lie. “I learned English.”

The water in the bowl starts turning pink. Mary instructs Barty to go to the bathroom and wash off his face while she makes tea.

“What are you doing in this part of London? If you don’t mind me asking, my Lord.”

“I… We… Barty brought me here. He knows these kinds of places. He wanted to dance.”

“Yes, I wanted to dance,” Barty re-emerges. His clothes are flecked with booze and blood. “And you picked a fight.”

“I didn’t pick a fight. I was just drunk and dancing with a girl. I didn’t mean to steal anyone’s sweetheart.” He looks at Lily for a second too long while saying this. “What are you doing here? I thought you went to London to become an artist.”

She shrugs. “I did. And I met many interesting and rich people who like my paintings.”

“But you live… here?”

“I was supposed to live with my sister. She married an unfriendly bloke from London and has a quaint little house with a quaint little marriage. They threw me out a few days ago, but luckily, I made a friend in Mary before and was allowed to move in. It is rather crowded with us and her family, but I give what I can in money, so they gladly let me stay.”

She finishes her work on his face. Barty inspects him with an unhappy expression. Regulus gathers that he still looks very much like he got into a fight, which might just prove Barty’s death sentence.

Mary brings tea for all of them.

“Why did they throw you out?” Regulus asks.

"Because they are idiots,” Mary says in her best standard English.

Lily smiles into her teacup. “I became too political for them. I spent my whole life in Lyopot, and I guess my ideas were radical for that sleepy little town, but here… oh, there is so much going on. People go on the streets and protest or go on strike to get politicians to listen to what they want. I found many new friends who believe in the same things as me. We might even see the vote for women within my lifetime! Maybe even decriminalise homosexuality and fight racial inequality! I even made friends from Ireland, and we speak about Irish independence. How could I not be part of all of it? My brother-in-law threatened to throw me out should I ever be seen at such a thing, but how could I stay away from such important work?”

Her face lights up in pure delight, which dies almost instantly when she looks at Barty and Regulus.

“My apologies. I know these things are not your concern and surely do not interest you.”

“I’m interested in anything that might annoy my father,” Barty says with a shrug and flings himself on the sofa, which answers with a concerning sound. “Even women’s suffrage.”

Mary rolls her eyes at him.

“What about your art?” Regulus asks quietly.

She shrugs. “It’s just not the same here, my Lord. I’ve always wanted to be a painter because what else was there besides being a bride and a mother? Do not misunderstand me. I do not doubt love and motherhood as concepts, but it could never be enough for me. I could never be just a man’s wife and a boy’s mother. …At the end of the day, that is why I could never say yes to Lord James even when I thought I might love him.” She bites her lip and looks away from him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk like this. He is your sister’s husband now. She will be a good countess for him, better than I ever could have. I couldn’t have done it, being an adequate countess, I mean.”

It would be enough for Regulus. The thought seems odd to him. He doesn’t want to be a wife or a mother. He threatened to kill himself over the idea. But a husband? He’d like that. He likes the life he leads with James right now. He could be content with a man who loves him unconditionally, a beautiful home, and spending time with his husband talking, laughing, and reading books together. He would write in his leisure time and go on vacations across the world. He doesn’t need another purpose – no career in arts, no politics. He’d like to be a writer, published and famous like R.L. Stevenson – but being loved by a man like James would be enough. Everything else would be a bonus, a luxury. He could even find delight in being a parent.

He doesn’t consider himself any less ambitious than Lily. His ambition right now lies in living as a man and being happy. It would be enough. Being happy would be enough. It would be the height of everything, and he needs so little for it. Yet, some days, the things that can make him happy seem further away than Lily’s right to vote.

“Living here has convinced me that I can be more,” Lily continues, pulling Regulus back into reality. “I can be more than just a wife and a mother. I can also be more than a painter. I can do more. Imagine, one of these days, one of us could even sit in the House of Commons!”

“We could even be Prime Minister,” Mary chips in with less enthusiasm and more determination than Lily.

Barty laughs. “You think they’d let that happen? Have you ever met political men? They are all awful traditionalists.”

“If women can vote, dey will go vote fir a woman prime minister,” Mary says and then adds something that Regulus is sure is an insult in her dialect.

 “I don’t understand,” Regulus says to Lily. “Are you happy that you came here or not?”

“I-“ she stops herself and sighs. “There was nothing left for me in Lyopot. I would have had to marry someone sooner than later, and the only decent man is not only miles away from me in social standing but is now also married. …This isn’t ideal, but I’m rather here doing good work than become someone I’m not in that sleepy little town.”

Regulus bites his lip and reaches for the tea.

Barty snorts. “I agree. Lyopot is awful. There’s just nothing to do over there.”

Except blond coachmen, Regulus thinks to himself.

Lily ignores him and leans closer to Regulus. “I do not wish to speak out of turn, my Lord, but… how is Lord James?”

Regulus swallows heavily. “He is… he is doing good. His grandmother died recently, and he was very sad, but… he is better now. Apart from that, he is as always. You know… chipper, big-hearted… all the good things.”

“Oh. Would you mind giving him my condolences?”

“I will.”

She smiles and looks into her tea. “And how is your sister?”

Regulus looks at her. “She… She is very ill, actually. She will not see the end of the year. Her and James’ marriage was only a union out of convenience anyway. He doesn’t love her. He loves you. He still loves you, and as soon as my sister is dead, you can be together again. He is a good man, a fantastic man, and he would support your art and your politics. He would get himself a seat in the parliament for you and fight for your rights if that was what you needed. You can marry him, have his children, and make him happy because you two love each other far more than he loves his wife.”

- he wants to say all of that. He says it in his head. Yells it at her in fury and despair with tears in his eyes. But the words die on his tongue.

Instead, he says, “She is doing well. She was at Lion’s Keep with James when his grandmother was sick and stayed there to help the family. They are very much in love. James loves her with all his heart. He says, he could never love another as much as her. And she… she loves him. She is devastatingly, obnoxiously in love with him. I can barely listen to her talking about it. She says he is the sun in the sky, beautiful and bright, and he makes her feel like he only shines for her. She would do anything for that man, even die. She would give up every other dream to make him happy. She says she would even let him be with someone else if it made him happy, but I know she wouldn’t survive it. She would give her all for that man. She would fight an army with her bare hands just to keep him around. …Her biggest fear is James losing any affection for her.”

Lily’s cheeks turn a similar shade of red as her hair, and she stares down into her tea.

“Well then,” Mary says, “me tink you lads should head home to yuh fancy likkle villa now.”

Barty clears his throat and stands up. “Yes, we should. Thank you for your help and hospitality, ladies. Regulus.”

Regulus quickly puts the cup away and stands up to follow Barty.

They haven’t been in the flat for long, so Barty advises him to caution on their way around the pub.

“Well, that was quite the speech,” Barty mumbles when they reach Gryffindor House and exit the Hansom cab.

“I had to say something. Will you scold me on the morality of lying now?”

Barty hums, “But you didn’t lie though, did you?”

Regulus ignores him and unlocks the door.

“I bet my last hat that none of that was a lie. That was pure honesty about your feelings for the man.”

Regulus closes the door behind them. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?”

“It doesn’t matter what I said or what I feel.”

“Why? Because you’re still convinced that the man won’t love you back? Didn’t you listen to what Dorcas and McKinnon said the other day?”

“I listened. But I am a man of reason and logic. The chance of James falling in love with me is small. The chance of us having what Dorcas and McKinnon have is even smaller. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter. I will leave one way or the other. I have to. What I said wasn’t the truth. Not fully. There’s not a lot I would give up for him. I will not give up myself for him. I will not give up being me.”

“No one asks you to. You know I’m not idly complimenting James Potter, but he won’t ask you to give up on being a man.”

“Not outwardly. But his and my position will demand it. I am forcing myself to play the Viscountess for him every once in a while. I’m doing it because I don’t want his reputation to suffer for helping me. But I cannot say for how long I will be able to do that. It is horrible. I know getting to be Regulus is more than many people in my position could ever hope for, but I cannot promise I would do it forever and ever for James. I want love, but not more than anything.”

Barty sighs deeply. He reaches out and touches his shoulder. “Regulus, you are my best friend. I want you to be happy.”

“I’m only your best friend because I’m your only friend.”

“Maybe. But you are far dearer to me than most men I’ve ever met. My point is there are two things I wholeheartedly believe when it comes to you: One, you will be happy. Two, you will be loved. Life’s about balance and compromise, isn’t it? I asked myself a question once: Is it more important to me to stay in contact with my mother even if it meant nodding along to my father’s tirades and behaving like a good son even though I wanted to kill him for what he said and did to me? Or is losing her worth angering him? Then I asked myself: Is it more important to have multiple cards up my sleeve and the chance of having a place to stay with you should Rosier grow tired of me, or is it more important to not break the trust of the one lover who I considered a friend and who I thought genuinely liked me? …Sometimes I look in the mirror and cannot help but think I chose wrong both times.”

Regulus bites his tongue for a moment. “It’s different.”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s all hypothetical, too. But if the day comes and you have to choose between burning, toxic discomfort for approximately thirty days a year and deep, reciprocated love… I hope you know what makes you happier in the long run, and don’t choose wrong.” Barty removes his hand and walks up to the staircase. “Good night.”

“Night,” Regulus mumbles.

He stands in the entrance hall for a long time, staring into nothing in front of him. He has no idea what would make him happier. He cannot imagine love being worth forcing himself into the role of the Viscountess – or worse, the Countess.

He knows he is far more fortunate than most people in his position would be. Dorcas gets to live as a woman almost all the time. But how many people like them are out there, forcing themselves into their birth-ascribed clothes, routines and roles?

Not even the best of love stories could ever be worth living as a woman while he feels like a man. Not even the love of James Potter. Not even the love of every romantic book character in the world combined. None of them.

But the few days he has to be the Viscountess in a year? He would never claim any man is worth it. But maybe a special kind of happiness would be worth it. The happiness of the other days the year holds… maybe.

Regulus finally shakes his head to himself and goes upstairs to his bedroom.

There is no point in wondering about this at all. The question only makes sense if James gives him the love he seeks. So far, it isn’t proven that James is capable or even willing to do it. There is no reason to drive himself crazy about this.

Regulus starts undressing himself. His stomach is far more bruised than he anticipated. The pain sets in when he removes the corset. He takes a look at his face next. His left eye is swollen and surrounded by a broad area that will turn into a nasty bruise. His cheek is cut, and he has minor scrapes on his chin and nose.

James won’t be happy with this.

Regulus smiles at himself. His eyes fall on the ring he won at cards. He placed it on the dressing table so he wouldn’t lose or forget it when they went home. The possessive side of his heart wants to see it on James. He wants to see him wear it, knowing that it was something James asked for and that Regulus got for him. It would tell a fairytale for them, almost like a second wedding ring.

He picks up the chain and puts it around his neck. He will wear it until he can hand it over to James.

***

The house is quiet with Regulus gone. James decided to spontaneously invite his parents to the Manor for the week, which didn’t bring a lot of excitement but at least gave the servants more to do.

Lord and Lady Gryffindor leave one day before Regulus and Crouch are scheduled to return from London. James told his parents his ‘wife’ went to London with Sirius.

Remus hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Sirius. He desperately wants to see him again. He misses him terribly. He wants to erase that night in London from both their memories. He won’t be able to do that, but it is impossible that it remains the last thing between them.

James called Remus and Peter to the drawing room to pay him company. A collection of fairytale books is spread out on one of the tables. James has been reading these and making sketches of something a lot over the past week. Remus isn’t sure he wants to know.

James sits on the sofa and sighs deeply before closing one of the books.

“What is that all about?” Peter asks.

“Nothing. I’m just being silly,” he mumbles and stands up to get a cup of tea.

“You and Lord Regulus are reading a lot of fairytales,” Remus notes.

James shrugs. “We talk about the books we read in our childhood. He doesn’t know many fairytales because his nanny thought they weren’t good for him. The Blacks don’t believe in raising dreamers. He never bothered to read them when he could make his own literature choices.” He rejoins them on the sofa. “When is he finally coming back?”

“Around noon tomorrow.”

James sighs again.

“Do you miss him?” Peter asks.

“Of course, I miss him. Especially with Sirius being gone, too. Regulus is one of my best friends now. Of course, you are also my best friend, Remus, and you, Pete. But Regulus is just… different.”

“Different,” Remus repeats. That is certainly one word to describe their relationship.

“Yes. He doesn’t have to go to Algeria or London for me to miss him. I miss him when we’re separated by a glass window. I miss him when I’m putting a shirt over my head. I miss him when I close my eyes during a sneeze. I miss him when the clock springs ahead an hour. I miss him when I stop to tie my laces, and he walks ahead in the gardens.”

Peter clears his throat. Remus calls on all his senses and appreciation for his job to keep his mouth shut. Maybe there is a platonic or heterosexual way to interpret that. Remus can’t think of one.

“James, as your friend,” Peter starts, “Do you think it’s possible that you-“

“No, no,” Remus says, touching his shoulder, “let him figure it out for himself.”

“Do we have that much time?” Peter whispers.

James looks at them, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Suspicious,” James mumbles. “Okay, I will leave you to your secrets.” He lies down on the sofa. Remus and Peter deserve psychology degrees because of James and his relationships. “You know who else I miss?”

“Surprise us,” Remus says, rolling his eyes.

“Lily.”

Peter almost chokes on his tea. Remus pats his back.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and clears his throat. “Lily. You didn’t mention her in a while. …So, do you miss her in the same way as Regulus?”

James frowns. “That’s a weird question.”

“Is it, though?”

“Yes,” James says thoughtfully. “I was just thinking about her because she is in London, too. I think she lives with her sister. I miss her friendship.”

Peter gives Remus a look. He just shakes his head in response.

James suddenly sits up. “We should invite her to Reggie’s ball!”

Remus stares at him. Is he fucking serious?

“Okay,” he says slowly and sets his tea down. “Let’s talk about it and see why that might not be the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“Why not? It’s the perfect opportunity to see her again. Also, there are so many rumours about Regulus and Lily. It will show that we are all friends.”

Remus has no words. Beside him, Peter starts giggling uncontrollably. The tea spills over the edge of the cup, and Remus quickly snatches it before Peter can drop it. The man’s face turns alarmingly red while he tries to regain his composure – quite unsuccessfully – and gasps for breath.

“What? What is so funny, Pete?”

“Nothing,” Peter gasps, “Nothing, great idea, James. Fantastic. Invite her. What could go wrong?”

“Exactly, what could go wrong?” James asks, obviously not catching Peter’s tone.

“Well, there must be a reason why Regulus hasn’t invited her.”

“Oh, he won’t mind. Why would he?”

Peter is full-blown laughing at this point.

“Well, you can ask him tomorrow.”

“There’s no time. We need to send out the invitation today. I’ll have Rosier deliver it in person to Mr Evans. He must know where in London Lily lives.”

“But you will tell Lord Regulus, right?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Peter, can you bring me the stationary from upstairs? It should be on Regulus’ desk. Remus, bring the seating chart. We have to make sure there is space for Lily and her father for the Birthday dinner.”

Remus clears his throat. “Last try: You are sure you shouldn’t wait for your husband’s opinion on this? You know, the person whose birthday it is, whose ball it is, and who you married instead of Lily. The one you miss when you sneeze, remember?”

“Yes, I know who my own husband is, Remus.” James rolls his eyes, “Now go, get the stuff. Meet me in the library.”

 Remus takes the red-faced, laughing Peter and leaves the drawing room with him.

“Oh, this is going to be a mess,” Peter whispers.

Remus pinches the bridge of his nose.

“We should make sure Pandora cannot get any of her special herbs into Miss Evan’s food.”

Remus nods slowly. “Do you ever feel like we are underpaid?”

“Constantly. But I will gladly give away my loan for the week if I get to see Lord Regulus’ reaction to James inviting Miss Evans without asking him. I’m still upset I missed it when James beat up Mr Crouch, and then Lord Regulus told him he would stay. The meltdown he had over it while I helped him dress for dinner was probably only half as good as the actual thing.”

Remus chuckles and shakes his head. “Get the stationary. I’ll collect the seating chart.”

When Remus comes back upstairs and to the library, James is already writing the invitation. Remus places the seating charts on the table by the reading nook.

He knows most of the names from the gatherings Lady Gryffindor held in the years Remus has been here.

James, his parents, and Regulus sit at the same table. They have three tables in total. Regulus didn’t want to have a big dinner in addition to the dancing part of the evening, but James’ mother sent a letter with clear instructions.

Lady Gryffindor is a kind and caring woman who is unlikely ever to pressure Regulus into anything on purpose. If she knew how hard this was on Regulus, she’d likely put an end to it immediately. Of course, Regulus refuses to tell her that he isn’t capable of adequately fulfilling his duties as the Viscountess.

Remus wasn’t the one to assemble these charts with Regulus, so he never noticed that Oscar Wilde’s name was on table three. He doesn’t care too much about that but does wonder whether James saw.

Remus reads the names over and over again, looking for one specific man.

“Where’s Sirius?” he asks quietly. Isn’t he coming for his brother’s birthday? Has Remus messed up so badly that this is the result?

James appears next to him. “Sirius?”

“Lord Black, I mean. I don’t see him on the chart.”

“Oh, right, Reggie kept this space next to me clear for him. We aren’t sure yet whether Sirius will actually come because we can’t tell whether the invitation has reached him yet nor whether it will reach him in time. Regulus is currently waiting for a message stating whether Sirius can make the journey from Algeria in time. Mind you, his letter stating he goes to Algeria didn’t even come from there but from his Paris flat – and it still took an eternity.”

“So, he may not come at all?”

“Well, it’s the birthday of his only brother, and he loves a good party. I assume he does his best to attend. And if he doesn’t make it, he might show up afterwards anyway. No rest for you after all, sorry.” He chuckles and pats his back.

James takes two slips of paper with Lily’s and Mr Evan’s names and pushes them around on the seating chart until he is happy.

“Reg wanted Oscar Wilde to sit at our table at first, but I wouldn’t let him. I don’t want that man anywhere near him.”

Remus hums absentmindedly.

“Okay, I guess we are finished here. I will go back to the drawing room and get back to the books. Thank you.”

James and Peter leave the library. Remus keeps staring at the space between James and Lord Longbottom. He takes another slip of paper and draws a star on it.

I miss you, Seren.

Come back.

***

Chapter Text

„Sin is the only thing worth living for” Teleny 61

Rosier left half an hour ago to pick up Barty and Regulus from the train station. James stands by one of the windows overlooking the front courtyard. He has never been a patient man and won’t become one now.

He is not made for living alone. He usually has his parents around him. If not his parents, then Sirius is with him. In the past months, Regulus has always been there. They spent every hour of every day in the same place. Granted, they slept in different rooms and fulfilled their duties or indulged their pastimes apart from each other at times, but they were still in the same house. Whenever James had a silly little thought, he could go to Regulus to share it. He has many silly little thoughts, and Regulus willingly listens to all of them. He listened to every little detail of his opinions and stories and never made him feel like he was overbearing. This is rare. James needs him back.

James considers many of the servants his friends, but it is different with them. They still see him as His Lordship (although that is his father’s title) and have work to do while James is wallowing in boredom. He cannot simply interrupt them to make them listen to him or drag them into mischief. That is the next thing: with Regulus and Barty gone and no one to court or annoy in the village, there is nothing fun to do. There is no mischief, no prank, no good, long conversation.

As if this mess wasn’t annoying enough, James spent the vast majority of the past week worrying about Regulus and Barty.

What if Barty touched Regulus?
What if he made his lewd little comments and made him uncomfortable?
What if he got him drunk and talked him into kissing him?
What if Regulus kissed him willingly while sober because he wanted to? What if he liked it?

The thoughts drive him positively mad. The image of Regulus kissing anyone – anyone getting to feel his lips and his touch on their skin – causes him physical pain. He cannot explain how or why. He only knows it happens.

Finally, the carriage appears at the end of the road leading to the manor. James breaks out into a sprint. The last time he had been this excited for a carriage to arrive was the first time Sirius visited him when they were young.

James almost runs into Remus on his way.

“Ah, my Lord, I was just about to get you.”

“Yes, yes, I know they’re coming.” James grins from ear to ear. “How do I look?”

Remus gives him a long look – not in an assessing way, but very judgmental. “Like a wife eagerly awaiting her husband’s return from war.”

 An odd comparison, but James doesn’t care. He runs his hands through his hair and straightens his glasses.

“I will tell the staff to assemble outside.”

“There’s no need for a grand reception. Just have someone stand by for the suitcases.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

James grins at him and struts outside to stand in the courtyard and welcome Regulus home. He might appreciate the gesture.

The carriage needs another eternity to reach him. Remus has brought Peter and two of the younger Weasley boys outside.

Rosier stops the carriage by the entrance and swiftly goes to open the carriage door.

Barty steps out first. The first thing James notices is that his nose looks funny. He has two black eyes, likely a side effect of being punched in the nose.

“What happened to you?” James asks, perplexed.

“Nothing. I should go inside immediately. I will see you at dinner.” The man dashes past James into the manor. Rosier is pressing his lips together and tipping his head back, seemingly suppressing a laugh.

Then Regulus steps out. James’s jaw almost drops to the floor.

Regulus’s beautiful face, sculpted by angel hands and painted by the gods of light and beauty, is horribly marred!

He has a black eye, an angry, red cut on his cheek, and pinkish surface scratches over his chin and nose, breaking up the fairy-dust freckles.

Regulus smiles carefully at him. “Hello, Jamie.”

James blinks at him in shock. “Oh, I’m going to kill him,” he whispers.

“James,” – but James breaks into the second sprint of the day before Regulus can finish his sentence.

“Bartemius Crouch Junior! Where are you, you little snake?!” James yells through the manor.

“James!” Regulus calls after him, broken up by laughter while chasing after him, “Jamie, wait.”

Regulus catches him by the staircase and reaches for his arm. “James, will you calm down?”

James turns to him, glaring at the injuries like that could make them go away. Regulus chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m fine. It wasn’t his fault, I promise.”

“You-“ James makes a frustrated noise that only amuses Regulus more. “You got hurt.”

“I know. I promise it is not that bad.”

James reaches out and carefully cups Regulus’ cheek and leans down to him. He gently brushes his thump over the line of his bruise. “I told him if anything happened to you, I would push him in front of a moving train.”

Regulus smiles. “Don’t do that, Sunshine,” he whispers sweetly. He puts his hand on the back of James’ neck and gently leans their foreheads together.

James forgets what he wanted to say or why he should even catch Barty.

“He defended me. I was stupid and got into a bar fight.”

“A bar fight? You?” James asks, smiling back. “How adventurous.”

At least Regulus’ lips sustained no injury. They are perfectly pink and soft-looking, like on their wedding day. James sometimes wonders whether the kiss they shared on their wedding day was Regulus’s first. It most likely was. Regulus isn’t like Sirius. He didn’t sneak into servants’ beds in his youth. Unless Barty crossed the line, it should still be the only kiss Regulus has ever had.

They stand closer than usual. James realises it when Regulus exhales deeply, like he held his breath for a few seconds too long. Regulus looks up at him out of dark, grey eyes, one as beautiful as ever, the other surrounded by blue and purple marks.

“You need to tell me everything about your trip.”

“Only if you promise to remain calm and not hunt Barty.”

James sighs dramatically. He breaks their connection when he leans his head back, looking up at the ceiling, past the gallery and the upper floors, where Barty is hiding.

He pulls Regulus into his arms and rests his chin on top of his head. “Only because I can’t say no to you.”

Regulus chuckles against him. “Did you miss me?”

“Miss you? Like a madman. …Did you miss me?”

“Hm, yes.” He winds himself out of James’ arms. “Terribly.”

The amount of happiness the word brings him is ridiculous. “Let’s go to the drawing room so you can tell me everything. I’ll tell Remus to bring tea.”

James decides to sit next to Regulus in the drawing room. Regulus took off his jacket before placing himself on the sofa. He leans back into it with a sigh.

“There is nothing quite like coming home, is there?” James asks, smiling, and reaches out to tuck a curl behind Regulus’ ear. He opens his grey eyes at him while his hand is still on him.

“No,” he whispers. “Nothing.”

They wait until Remus brings the tea.

“So, tell me, how did you get into a fight?”

Regulus smirks. “Well, Barty brought me to a pub in the East End. I got very drunk and turned into a carpet.”

“A carpet? Un tapis?”

“Oui. I felt very… fuzzy. Like a carpet.”

James laughs brightly. “God, what I would give to see you that drunk.”

“But then Barty wanted me to dance. While I could not walk straight. It was embarrassing, but I think I managed quite well given the circumstances.”

“You danced in a pub.” James can barely believe what he is hearing.

“Yes. Is it so hard to believe?”

“Extremely,” he grins.

Regulus rolls his eyes and mumbles something in French. “Anyway, then they were doing a wild couple dance. Polka, Barty said. And I asked a girl to dance.”

“You danced with a girl?”

“Yes. I am a man, and I asked a girl to dance.” He seems quite proud of himself for it.

“Great. How did that feel?”

“Well, I hate talking to strangers and dancing in public, but the alcohol helped with that.”

James rolls his eyes. “How did it feel asking a girl to dance for the first time?”

He smiles in pure delight. “Fantastic. It is… hard to explain, but it felt boyish. Like putting on the clothes for the first time.”

James smiles gently and absentmindedly touches the fabric of Regulus’ shirt.

“I danced with the girl, and it went well considering that I did not know the steps and was a sticky carpet. But then her man showed up, and I picked a fight.”

“You picked a fight?”

“Yes. Do you not think me capable?”

“I think you very capable of picking a fight, all right. Just not a physical one.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and playfully pushes him away. “Barty stepped in to help me, but the man was shoving me, and then he spat at Barty, so I shoved him back. Then he hit me. And then everybody hit everybody. It was very quick.”

James shakes his head in disbelief. “I leave you alone with Crouch for seven days, and you get drunk out of your mind, dance, and start a fistfight. My, Reggie, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Regulus smirks and leans closer to him. “There you have it: You should never underestimate me.”

“Noted.” James winks at him. “How did you get out of that mess?”

“The singer from the club helped us. She was a black woman who lived close by. She spoke weird.”

“I imagine all people may sound weird to you in the East End.” James could curse himself for missing Regulus’ reaction to his first time hearing Cockney.

“She spoke differently than most people. They all spoke the Cockney dialect. I’ve met people who spoke like that, too.”

“Did you? Did Barty bring you anywhere that wasn’t an Eastern working-class space?”

“We went to the theatre once. Only once. Barty cannot be taken to the theatre. He doesn’t know how to behave. He got bored and disappeared with a married woman after intermission. I will never go to the theatre with him again.”

James refrains from cheering out loud. At least Barty won’t take theatre evenings with Regulus from him.

“But we did go to a secret gambling spot and met two exceedingly interesting women. One was like me, can you imagine?”

“What do you mean, like you?”

“Born a man but is a woman. So, the opposite of me but still the same.”

“Oh… did you have a good conversation with her?”

Regulus nods with a distracted smile. He reaches for his cup of tea on the coffee table.

Barty brought him to a gambling spot, introduced him to people he could relate to, and gave him new experiences ranging from hearing accents to asking a girl to dance like every other man. What did James do when they were in London? He got jealous that Regulus flirted with Oscar Wilde and brought him to the ever-same theatre and the ever-same class-appropriate Gentlemen’s Club.

He can’t help but wonder when he got boring. He used to be fun. He used to have this town and this manor in a chokehold with his mischief and his pranks.

“Hey,” Regulus says softly, “what are you thinking? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” James says quickly, smiling at him. Regulus frowns, unconvinced. “Did you like this vacation more than ours?”

Regulus blinks, confused. “It did not occur to me to rank them.”

“You always rank things.”

“I could make a list and compare if you like.”

James cannot see how he could win in a direct contest. At least Regulus missed him during his vacation. He didn’t miss Barty when they were in London with Sirius.

Regulus hums. “Ours was better.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You were there.” He shrugs. James looks at him, surprised. How could his presence balance out all the things he experienced while being gone with Barty?

Regulus reaches to his collar and pulls out a necklace James hasn’t seen before. Regulus doesn’t wear necklaces. He takes it off and dangles it in front of James. A gold ring hangs at the end of it.

“What’s that?”

“You asked me for a trinket I won at cards.”

James grins. “Did you take some poor fellow’s wedding ring?”

“He wore it around his neck, so I doubt the marriage was in a good place to begin with.” He slides the ring off the band. “Will you wear it?”

“With pride.”

Regulus reaches for James’ hand and, after little consideration, slides the ring on one of his fingers. It almost reminds James of their wedding day. On their wedding day, however, Regulus was not smiling like this.

James chuckles and holds the ring up into the sunlight reaching into the room.

“Thank you, Reggie. Knowing I was on your mind means a lot to me.”

“Well, you are quite memorable,” he says like it isn’t a good thing.

Why wouldn’t it be a good thing? James shakes the thought. “Did anything else happen? Any more adventures, Lord Regulus?”

Regulus reaches for his tea. “No.”

Regulus is a good liar, but he and Sirius lie the same way with the same tells. He is hiding something.

“Are you sure?”

He thoughtfully stirs the tea. “I learned many euphemisms for sex, but that is it.”

For sex? The rage towards Barty slowly returns.

Then, a horrible suspicion creeps up on him. Is that what Regulus is hiding? Did something happen between Regulus and Barty, and he doesn’t want to tell him? Did they fall in love? Did they kiss? Did they lie with each other in the London house of James’ family?

“I should go upstairs and change my clothes,” Regulus says suddenly and stands up. “I smell like London and train.”

James hums. “I’ll send Poppy up to examine your injuries.”

“Thank you.”

Were Barty’s hands on Regulus’ delicate skin? Did he undress him and learn his body with his fingertips? And if something happened, for how long will they keep it a secret from James?

***

They play cards in the evening. Crouch doesn’t stay with them to play, claiming he has watched Regulus strip lesser men of their riches long enough. They all know Barty is still mildly afraid James will stand up and hit him for bringing Regulus to dangerous places. Regulus also calls it an early night, leaving James, Peter and Remus alone in the drawing room.

“I missed him,” James says with a fond smile.

“He was only gone for a week,” Peter says, collecting the cards. “Not lost at sea.”

“We need his handsome face around. He increases the value of the entire place.”

Peter gives him a look, then shifts to Remus. Remus has been quiet this evening. Now, he sits in his seat, shrouded in silence, staring at nothing in particular.

James twists the ring around his finger. Regulus won it for him. He missed him, too. He missed him and thought about him while being away with Barty.

Why does he even care so much? Regulus can do as he pleases. He said, James was free to take lovers, court a woman, and even have children. The thought is ludicrous. No matter what birthed their marriage and how doomed it may be, he couldn’t betray their union. For as long as they are married, he won’t love another. He would betray his own values and set up his family and Regulus for scandal should anyone ever learn of an affair.

As much as these rules are self-imposed and meaningless, he expected Regulus to share the sentiment.

“Do you think something happened between Barty and Regulus?” James asks suddenly.

Peter looks up. “Pardon?”

“Barty. Regulus. London. Do you think they… do you think they kissed? Shared a bed?”

“Has he said anything of the sort?”

“Of course not. Regulus may sometimes say some scandalous things to be impudent, but he would never compromise himself by telling of any experiences like that.”

Peter hums. “Or there just weren’t any ‘experiences’.”

“They are hiding something. I know it.”

“How do you know?”

James shrugs. “Instinct.”

Peter hums. “Because you are immensely talented in figuring out what happens between people, emotion-wise. Right, Remus?”

Remus doesn’t answer. Peter touches his shoulder. “Remus?”

Remus jumps. “What? Sorry. I was distracted. What are we talking about?”

“Who may or may not be the object of Lord Regulus’s affection.”

“Oh. Any progress?”

“None.”

James frowns at his friends. Are they speaking in code now? “What is going on?”

Peter clears his throat. “Not to speak out of turn, but from my perspective, it surely looks like he shows more interest in you than Mr Crouch.”

“Of course, it looks that way. I am far more interesting than Crouch, and we are married. No matter what else, Regulus has a role to play. He takes his duties very seriously.”

Peter sighs. “I give up. Remus, thoughts?”

Remus is distracted again.

“Hey, Remus, what is going on with you, mate?” Peter shakes him.

“Are you okay?” James asks. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks. Talk to us. Please.”

Remus looks at his friends. He grabs his glass and downs his drink. “That ring you’re wearing,” he mumbles, “Where did you get it from?”

James looks at his hand. “It’s a present from Regulus. I asked him to bring me a trophy from his games.”

“Can I see it?”

James takes off the ring and hands it over. Remus’ hand is shaking when he takes it. He traces the pattern and then closes his fist around it.

“What? What is it?” James drags his chair around the table to sit closer to him.

Remus drops the ring on the table. “That used to be mine.”

“What?”

“When I was young, I came to London for work. There was another man there, working with me… he was older. His name was Fenrir.”

James touches his wrist. Remus clears his throat.

“You know how it is. I was young and romantic. He was mysterious, and I thought his insults were a challenge to win his good faith, his possessiveness charming, and his anger deserved. He kept me on my toes, alternated between sweet and angry, attentive and dismissive, making me work harder for his affection than for my employer’s appreciation. …I fell in love.”

It doesn’t sound like a good love. It sounds exhausting.

“I thought he loved me, too,” he whispers.

“He didn’t?” James asks gently. “It doesn’t sound like he deserved you.”

Remus bites his lip and shakes his head. “He made me believe he loved me. We kissed, and I let him into my bed whenever he wanted. Even when I didn’t want it… The ring belonged to my mother. I gave it to Fenrir. We couldn’t wed, of course, but it felt like the next best thing. …It all came to an end when I got promoted. Fenrir grew colder than before. Then the police came to take me away for being a sodomite. Fenrir testified against me in court.”

“He did what?” Peter exclaims.

Remus shrugs. “He told nothing about our involvement, of course. He testified to seeing me approaching other men, and… well, he said many things.”

“Without putting himself in harm’s way. What a bastard.”

Remus hums. “Of course, you know most of the rest. I went to prison. I got…these.” He vaguely points at his face. “I was released, and… everything seemed bleak and hopeless until you found me.”

James nods slowly. “But something happened, didn’t it? While we were in London? Did you see him again?”

Remus bites his lip, hard. “I never thought I’d take another lover. I didn’t want to end up in the same situation… but then…” He looks up at James, then at Peter. “I didn’t listen to myself and got involved with someone else.”

“Who?” James asks. He never noticed Remus liking anyone. He imagined he would have told him if he had someone.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says quickly. “But when we were in London, I met Fenrir again. And he let me in on a secret. …It’s not just that it was he who gave my name to the police. Not just that he never loved me.” He inhales sharply. “The real secret is: Love isn’t real. Not for people like us. There is no room for love. Not for him. Not for me.”

He pushes the ring away like it personally harmed him.

“That is nonsense, Remus,” James says softly. “Of course, you deserve love. You and all of us. That man was evil, but that shouldn’t stop you from-“

“It already has,” Remus interrupts him. His voice shakes. “After I went to see Fenrir, I spoke with… with the other man. He told me he loved me, but I… I didn’t know what to say. It seems an impossibility. We are too far away from each other on a good day. But Fenrir was right: love does not exist. Not for someone like me. And he could never fully understand it, I thought. He didn’t know what he was saying. So, I just… pushed him away. …And now he won’t talk to me. Won’t even see me.”

Not sure what to say, James reaches out and pulls Remus into a hug.

“Maybe that bloke didn’t love you,” Peter says, “but keeping the ring must have had a reason.”

“It doesn’t matter,” James disagrees. “Fuck that man. But the other one… if he loves you, maybe if you explain-“

Remus pulls himself out of James’ arms. “It doesn’t matter. I messed up. I am messed up. I don’t know how he ever got the idea of loving me, but I can’t say whether I am even capable of loving him back. At least adequately.”

“Of course you are,” James whispers. “You aren’t messed up, Remus. And if that man loves you, he will see that. Who is it? Do we know him?”

Remus hesitates and then shakes his head.

“You should at least try to talk to him. Try to explain what was going through your head at the time.”

“He won’t want to see me.”

“Ask someone else to invite him,” Peter says. “A person who’s close to him. And when he’s here, try to speak with him. Maybe if you just explained… you could come to an agreement.”

Remus shrugs defeatedly. “What’s the point? He surely won’t love me anymore.”

“You’ll never know until you know,” Peter says sagely.

James reaches for the ring and puts it into Remus’ hand. “Next time, give it to someone who deserves it.”

***

April

The best thing about spring are the warmer days. The carefully cultivated gardens come into full bloom, and the estate invites for sunny walks.

James took Regulus on such a stroll today. They walk along the forest near the south side of the hill. The sun is standing high and bathes them in light and heat. James took his jacket off a couple of minutes ago, slinging it casually over his shoulder and holding his face into the glaring sun. This is how he should be seen, but only by Regulus’ eyes.

The bruise around his eye has faded to a greenish-yellow hue, and the cut on his cheek has turned into a pink scar.

“When Sirius is here, and the other guests are gone, we can go hunting with a proper hunting party.”

“A proper hunting party of you, me, Sirius and Barty? That’s not a lot.”

James shrugs. “All the people I need. And Barty.”

Regulus smiles and shakes his head. “What’s the prey around this time?”

“Rabbits mostly. Hagrid hates it when we go rabbit hunting. He hates it when we go hunting at all.”

“Curious job for someone who hates seeing others hunt.”

James shrugs with a smirk. “He gets to keep the other animals healthy, give them a good place to live, and tell us when hunting is definitely off the table.”

“Well, I’m excited. My first hunting season.”

“You never went hunting at home? Sirius told me stories about hunting at Aquitaine with your father, uncles, and brothers-in-law.”

Regulus gives him a long look. “Yes, I will give you a minute to reflect on all the people you’ve listed to figure that out.”

James looks at him thoughtfully until, “Oh. Oh. Right, that. Forgot about that for a minute.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow at him. “Forgot about it?”

He shrugs and grins. “What? It’s not like I spend day and night thinking about what you’re hiding under those clothes.”

Regulus, unsure whether he should tease or show him how satisfied he is with this information, tightens his mouth to not smile at him. “We’re big on the compliments today, I see.”

James smiles and shrugs. “Your hair got quite long.”

Regulus reaches for one of the strands and pulls it straight. “Yes. I leave it like this so Pandora has something to work with for my party. Then I will let her chop it all.”

“But not too short. You look so handsome with the curls.”

“We’ll see.”

James smiles and runs his hand through his hair while holding his face into the sun again. He pulls his cravat loose around his neck. Regulus watches him. He takes his jacket off.

“Are you warm? We could go back,” James offers.

Sweating. Hot. “Not yet.”

They keep walking along the forest, slowly circling back to the manor. “I was thinking we could go to France in the summer. Not your home but somewhere south. England is depressing around that time.”

“When we were children, my family sometimes spent the summer by the coast. It was one of the only times I was allowed to leave the estate.”

“That sounds lovely. Do you remember where you went exactly?”

“No. Sirius might. They only took us thrice, between when Sirius took his flat in Paris and I was old enough not to be a bother to my parents.”

“You never went on vacation with your parents other than the three times?”

“No. They would leave us at home with the Nanny. Nounou Bain – which wasn’t her real name, but she liked giving us baths a bit too much, and we hated it, so we called her that.”

“They just left you at home with the servants? That’s horrible.”

“It is the standard. Your family is the odd one out here. My mother only spent one hour a day with us before we were allowed to partake in dinners.”

“Sirius barely told me anything about your childhood. It gets worse with everything you tell me.”

Regulus looks away.

“But don’t stop, please. Tell me everything.”

“Honestly, the more time we had to spend with our parents, the worse it got. The first time I was allowed to eat with them in the dining room, my mother kept commenting how I was eating like a pig and how after I ruined her body with my birth, I now seemed determined to ruin my own, too.”

“I hate her,” James mumbles.

“Really, the best time was when they left Sirius and me alone with the staff. We spent the days running away from Nounou Bain and got our clothes muddy and grass-stained while running and hiding across the estate. When I got older, and my body started to change, I stole Sirius’ clothes and put them on – I would have never got away with it with my parents present.”

James chuckles. “But the nanny let you?”

“She didn’t know. She got lazy over the years. Raising Sirius makes people old. Sirius once saw me in his clothes and was livid.”

“Really? I can’t imagine him ever being angry with you.”

“Oh, he was. We fought often. We are brothers. He claimed I was ruining his best clothes and I needed to take the ones he didn’t like if I wanted to play dress-up. So, I did.”

“That sounds more like him,” James remarks with a knowing grin. “Tell me more happy stories from your childhood. You and Sirius as little enfants terribles.”

Regulus chuckles at the expression. “Sirius was un enfant terrible. I was a very well-mannered child.”

“Of course, you were. Except when someone blackmailed your brother, and you got too much access to garden sheers.”

Regulus smiles and thinks of a happy memory from his childhood with Sirius. “When I was seven, and Sirius was eleven or ten, our parents went away for a month. One day, we played in the gardens, and Sirius picked the lock to the shed. Inside, we found kittens.”

“Kittens?”

“Yes, adorable little kittens. Their mother was near them, but she was dead. I wanted to keep the kittens, so Sirius helped me return them to the manor. A maid even helped us take care of them. We named them, uhm… Brie, Camembert, Roquefort, Comté and Emmental.”

James stops. He looks at him for a long moment. “You named the poor kittens after cheese?”

“Yes.”

“That… is the Frenchest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It was Sirius’ idea.”

“Of course, it was.” James shakes his head, laughing. “How did your parents react to the cats when they came home?”

“They didn’t react at all. They all died before their return.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“No, I- forget it. Did you ever have any pets?”

“No, my parents wouldn’t allow it.”

James sighs. “No pets, no vacations. I’ve always disliked your parents, but they keep disappointing me.”

“Did you go on many travels with your parents?”

“My parents took me up to Scotland a lot for hunting seasons. I travelled around India with my mother, too. It is a gorgeous country. Would you like to go?”

“To India? It sounds terribly hot. But to a coast in the south of France, we can go. Or to the East of Europe or even the centre. Actually, I have never been anywhere except where we went for our honeymoon. So, you could take me to Scotland, and I might take a liking to it.”

“How about America?”

“America? No. My brother told me nightmarish tales of that place. He said the people there are even less civilised than the English. And the English are… well, les Anglais. Can we not go somewhere without having to travel weeks on a ship?”

“What do you have against ships?”

“Nothing. Except that there are vast quantities of dangerous waters underneath them filled with sharks, whales and other monsters.”

“Yes, but you are on the ship, not under the ship.”

“Who knows for how long? Those things sink. And then you are in the water, and then a shark comes to bite that grin right off your face.”

James laughs, shaking his head. “Well, we can’t let any sharks near your handsome face. So, no long voyages at sea. Understood. At least that means your brother won’t be able to take you terribly far away from me, or he will have to bring you to India by train.”

“I don’t want to be as far away from you as India,” Regulus says quietly, knowing that he should not say such things at all. Instead, he should want to be away from James.

James smiles at his words with the warmth of a thousand suns, like he could ever understand what he means. “I will take you somewhere nice. France for the summer, Romania in October, and the winter palace in St. Petersburg for January.”

“That is a lot.”

“If you stay with me longer, we can do Romania in Spring and St. Petersburg next December.”

“Will you take me to the winter palace as Regulus or the Viscountess?”

“You, of course. Even if it means we can’t dance together.”

They reach the manor again but stay outside in the sun.

“You never danced with me. You don’t even know whether I’m any good at it.”

“I seem to remember that one wedding dance you granted me. I also seem to remember you being phenomenal at it. We will dance again at your ball. I’m looking forward to it.”

Regulus is looking forward to it, too. He will get hours of touching James and being close to him. He will have to wear a dress all day and be profoundly uncomfortable, but at least he will be with James. James can calm him, can call him Darling and whisper reassuring things to his ear.

“Maybe we should practice to be sure that I am phenomenal,” Regulus says daringly.

James smiles at him. “Maybe we should. We have a gramophone in the music room.”

Regulus can feel his lips twitch.

The glass doors open, and Lupin steps out. “Lord James, Mr Mulciber is waiting for you in the library. He wants a conversation. He says it is urgent.”

James sighs. “That’s the agent. I will try to keep it short. Will you meet me in the music room in an hour?”

“I will be there.”

James smiles and goes back inside.

Remus lingers for a second. “My Lord,” he says hesitantly. “Did you hear anything from your brother?”

Remus asked him a few weeks ago whether he could do anything to ensure that Sirius came to the ball at the end of the month. Regulus wrote to the flat in Paris again. “Yes. As far as I know, Sirius is on his way home from Algeria. He will most likely be able to make it.”

Remus nods and goes to follow James.

Knowing that the agent and his family would be at the ball, too, Regulus decides to stay away from the library as long as he is at the manor.

The memory of the cats makes him go to the stables. He likes the horses and enjoys visiting them. Also, the kitchen cat finds refuge here sometimes.

The first thing he finds by the stables is neither the horses, the groom, nor the cat. He finds Barty.

The man sits in the dirt, his head leaning against the stable wall and a cigarette burning in his hand. If his mind isn’t playing tricks on him, he can see red marks on his face, left by tears.

He is still deciding whether to approach him when Barty opens his eyes and sees him.

“Oh, hey, Reg.”

Regulus approaches him and sits down next to him. “Rosier?”

He laughs humourlessly. “I’m getting too predictable. I need a new problem. I’m contemplating a drug addiction to distract myself.”

“What happened?”

“Same as always. I wanted to talk. It escalated. We fought. We kissed. He told me what a good-for-nothing bastard I am and left.”

“How did it escalate?”

“I don’t know. He said he didn’t want to talk. I asked whether he could stop being a prissy little dick for one minute and listen to my apology. He said I’m not worth his time. I pushed him against a wall.”

“That could have gone better.”

Barty scoffs. “Yes. It fucking could have. I mean, he was right. I am good for nothing. Useless. I only exist to annoy people and bring shame over everyone who is even vaguely associated with me. Just ask my father. He will gladly tell you all about it.”

Regulus is contemplating making a list of people for Pandora to poison should they misbehave.

“I made sure your father sits at another table than you for the dinner for my birthday. But I seated your mother next to you. I thought you might appreciate that.”

Barty hums. “I do, actually. Thanks. I miss her. I wish she would leave my father. She deserves better. Of course, I could never just tell her that outside of a temper tantrum and without smashing vases and slicing portraits. How could she ever take me seriously?” He spits on the ground and takes a shaky drag from the cigarette.

“You get destructive when you can’t deal with your feelings. …That is familiar.”

“Cut from the same cloth?” Barty smirks.

“More than that. Maybe we are related. My brother does the same. So do my cousins, my parents, my uncles and aunts.”

“And you? I cannot think of a destructive thing you’ve done recently. Can you deal with your feelings? Because if yes, please teach me your ways.”

Regulus bites his lip. “I, uhm… I paid art people in London a lot of money, so they get Lily out of town.”

Barty slowly turns to him with both eyebrows raised into his hairline.

“I didn’t know how to deal with the jealousy and falling for James, so I did everything I could to get her out of Lyopot. And now she was thrown out of her sister’s house and shares a flat with the family of that singer while she is probably in love with James and James is in love with her. When I learned of this, instead of helping or telling her the truth about me and James, I told her that she had no chance. That there is no point in even approaching him ever again in her life. And at the end, I did not tell James a word about meeting her. When they find out what I did…” he swallows heavily. “I call that destructive.”

Barty takes a slow drag from his cigarette. “You’re obsessing too much over that woman. She doesn’t want him that much, and he is easily distracted.”

James may be easily distracted from things but never people.

“Why do you like him at all?” Regulus asks.

“Who?”

“Rosier.”

Barty shrugs. “He’s handsome. He indulges my little insanities. He has that one trick with his tongue where he-”

“I said why do you like him? Not why are you aroused by him.”

“He-“ Barty bites his lip. “What I mean when I say he indulges my insanities is… he makes me feel less insane. I’m not some lunatic destined to be hated by everybody when I’m with him.”

“I thought you liked being perceived as a little mad in the head.”

“Do you like being seen as a mean, cold-hearted bitch, or were you called it for so long that you rather became it than have people spread stories behind your back?”

Regulus bites his tongue.

“Exactly. Years ago, I was just a normal lad getting spoiled by his mother and ignored by his father. Then… somewhere, somehow, it all went wrong. I went wrong. …Evan didn’t make me feel wrong. Now, all I feel when I look at him is… wrong. I did it all wrong. I messed up. And the thing is, I used not to care that I hurt and mistreated people. Now, I care. Now, I regret. And it still doesn’t get me anywhere.”

Regulus exhales deeply. “Look at that. Maybe you are changing for him.”

“Yay,” he says unenthusiastically, taking another drag from the cigarette. “Tell me when it starts making a difference.”

“Rosier is a proud man, above all else. Even above being loyal. If you put in the work, he may forgive you.”

“May?”

“I refrain from pointless optimism, but I learned that it is an integral part of comforting.”

Barty looks at him. He laughs and shakes his head. “It’s hopeless. Maybe we should just run away together and elope; forget about those two.”

“How romantic. But we know it could never work between us. No matter how much distance we put between us and them. Loin des yeux, près du Coeur. I’m in love with James, and you are in love with Evan.”

Barty scoffs like the idea of being in love was ludicrous.

“You’re right. We are cut from the same cloth. We won’t ever again love someone as strongly as those two.”

“You need to stop saying depressing shit, Regulus. I will need to collect more vices to deal with you before I slit my wrists in my father’s office.”

“Why there?”

“Can’t go out without causing him a last headache, can I?”

Regulus can relate to that, too. Not from his own life, but it sounds strangely like Sirius.

“You should lie down and have a nap. Try not to kill yourself before my birthday.”

“You’re terrible at the comforting bit.”

“You’re terrible at choosing your friends if you rely on me for comfort.”

“Tushy.”

Regulus frowns. “Touché?”

“That’s what I said.”

“It is not.”

Barty shrugs. “Agree to disagree.”

“What? No. It’s a language, you can’t just-“

Barty grins and stands up. “Mercy pur votre temp.”

Regulus frowns at him in disgust. He knows he does it on purpose to annoy him. He could be above it. He is not.

He increases his accent to near incomprehension. “If you ever talk to me like that again, I will guillotine your balls.”

Barty chuckles, flings the cigarette on the ground and leaves.

***

James spends a long time talking to the Agent.

Regulus waits in the music room, passing the time by playing the piano. He likes the music room. It is primarily a storage room or was used for musical education when James was young (it didn’t stick). The instruments are brought to other rooms for parties.

Regulus is playing a piece his brother taught him when they were boys. He hears the door open and looks up. James comes in, smiling at him.

Regulus keeps playing while James goes to the gramophone to see whether it works. He pushes several other instruments and tables aside to create a circular dance floor.

“I like what you’re playing,” James says while choosing a record for the gramophone.

“Sirius taught it to me.”

He puts the records back and comes over to him. He folds his arms on the top of the piano. “It’s not my favourite of the things you’ve played for me, though.”

“Which one was your favourite?”

“I’m not sure. …You played one last November that I liked. It went like …” he tries imitating the melody by humming.

Regulus plays the notes he hummed, realising which song he meant. When Regulus first moved in, and they got to know each other, they spent most of their time in the library and the music room. Regulus would practice on the piano and the violin, and James would simply keep him company.

Regulus plays the song from last November for him. James closes his eyes, resting his head on his arms, and smiles while listening. He looks undeniably beautiful like this. The light hits the high point of his cheekbone and the delicate, brown hairs on his arms. In the summer, his hair is flecked with brown and gold, and Regulus cannot wait to see them return.

When he reaches the song's end, he almost wants to start from the beginning to not lose the sight of James like this. But they wanted to dance.

Regulus brings the song to an end. James smiles warmly. Regulus reaches up and gently strokes over James’ cheek. He opens his eyes at him. Regulus can see all the caramel and gold dots and lines in his irises when they are this close. He squints in the sunlight.

“That was beautiful. Shall we dance now?”

“If you want.”

James stands up and returns to the gramophone to start the music.

He returns to the middle of the dance floor he created, where Regulus joins him. He extends his hand.

"May I have this dance, Darling?" James asks with a charming smile.

Regulus rolls his eyes and places his hand in his waiting palm. "Of course, Sunshine."

They wait until the song's tact allows them to begin. James's hand holds Regulus firmly but gently, guiding him through the steps of the waltz. They were both taught to dance like this from early childhood onwards. Their bodies move in perfect harmony with the music and each other, fluid but precise.

James's hand is pressed against Regulus’ back, far stronger than traditionally desired. Regulus desires it like this. He desires to feel his touch through the layers of clothes he wears. He desires to feel his hands on him, beneath the clothes, even.

James sways them around, making Regulus twirl once or twice, which leads to him rolling his eyes and James chuckling. James's dark eyes never leave his.

Regulus’ hand rests on James’ shoulder. He slips one of them under the shoulder part of his waistcoat.

James isn’t wearing the ring he got for him in London anymore. He promised to wear it but stopped the very next day. He claimed the ring originally belonged to Remus through a long story which wasn’t James’s to tell. Regulus successfully convinced James that it didn’t matter. It was just a trinket he won at cards, right? What does it matter? He only wore it day and night, trapping it under his corset and keeping it next to his heartbeat even when he slept, fantasising about James wearing it later. He thought about James touching the object he once had on his body as if it made James touch him by association.

“I knew you were a phenomenal dancer,” James whispers.

“Of course I am. I am surprised to learn the same about you.”

James smiles and twirls him again. “You will be the most handsome man at the ball.”

Regulus hums, unconvinced. “Except that I will be wearing a dress.”

James shrugs. “I will imagine you like this when we dance.”

Regulus forgets how to breathe for a moment. Can he do that? He will do that. Of course, he will. Regulus is always safe with James. He always sees him as he is.

I love you, he thinks. Oh God, how I love you. You are the greatest blessing and most devastating bane of my life, James Potter.  

***

Regulus’s birthday is a few days away.

Twenty-two. It seems only yesterday that a four-year-old Sirius poked his mother’s stomach and demanded, “Be a boy!”

Sirius is almost certain that it was that moment specifically that started his mother’s hatred for him. In hindsight, Sirius wonders whether he is responsible for the confusion concerning Regulus and his body. He probably made him a boy after the body of the baby was already done forming. If he knew, he would have wished for a brother sooner. Then again, he always wished for a brother, so, really, it isn’t his fault at all. Regulus should have listened better, to begin with.

Of course, Sirius wouldn’t miss the birthday of son petit, not even because of Remus Lupin.

He spent the past months in Algeria by their olive groves. Considering that his father is sick, lazy and ‘wouldn’t want to be seen around Bomboulas, ’ Sirius has been in charge of the land in Algeria since he was 18 years old. It constituted, so to speak, his 18^th birthday present. Still, he doesn’t spend a lot of time here. He doesn’t have a particular love or fascination for the African continent, even if Algeria is supposedly French now.

It is far away from Remus, though. As far away as Sirius was able to get in a short amount of time.

At first, he was simply confused and embarrassed. What did he do wrong? What happened?

Then he was depressed. He cried his eyes out over that stupid man.

Now, he is angry. And he is sick of feeling angry.

He wanted to fuck Remus out of his brain. He thought he would pick up every mildly attractive man on the journey south, wash away the memory of Remus with the taste of their bodies and leave bruises on their necks and thighs as his only farewell.

Ultimately, he only slept with one man who worked at the olive grove in Algeria. He broke down crying afterwards. Why couldn’t sex just be sex? Why couldn’t every man feel the same as Remus? Why did Sirius keep comparing them in his head?

After Algeria, he travelled around the East of Europe, then Germany. He had an interesting conversation with a man named Hirschfeld there. During his stay in Germany, he sent a letter back to Paris, asking for any mail he might have missed that didn’t make it to Algeria before he left. He learned of Regulus’ Ball then. He can only wonder who made him plan a dance event like that.

Now, he is in London, prepared to make the journey to Lyopot in a few days.

He sits on a bed in his Club with Oscar Wilde between his legs. Oscar likes kneeling for young men half his age and literacy, which puts Sirius outside of his preferred type, but he is pretty enough not to be rejected by anyone. Anyone except Remus Lupin.

Who does he think he is?

Oscar kisses the inside of his thigh and pushes him back on the bed.

Sirius catches sight of himself on a small mirror on the bedside table.

His mother used to have one of those in her bedroom. Once, Sirius snuck into the room when he was ten, maybe eleven. His father was sick again. He often was, around that time. Sirius climbed on the bed to speak with him.

“Papan?” Sirius whispered. The man turned to him. His doughy face was bloated and swollen, so he could barely see and barely speak. In his childish mind, he thought someone had ripped his father’s eyes out because he couldn’t see them anymore. His father moaned in agony and confusion.

Sirius drew back in horror and kicked the mirror behind him off the dressing table. It crashed and splintered on the wooden floors, calling his mother’s attention. Her high-heeled shoes stabbed the floor as she drew nearer. Sirius tried to climb off the bed and hide under it, but his father now reached out for him and clamped his sweaty hand down on his wrist, moaning like a zombie.

He could feel his heart beating out of his chest, hearing her come and trying to pry his father’s hand off his arm.

Just when he got loose, Walburga stood in the room.

“What are you doing, Sirius? You know you are not supposed to be in here!” she yelled.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to see Papan, I-“

“Shut up! Look what you’ve done! How come I birthed a child as useless as you? Can’t you ever do a simple thing without breaking something?”

“I’m sorry! It was an accident!”

“An accident? That is what you use as an excuse? You are not just stupid and foolish, but also clumsy?”

Walburga picked up the mirror from the ground and smashed it again. Then, she took an abandoned glass from the table and smashed it on the ground as well. She used her shoes to spread out the shards on the floor.

“You worthless little thing.” She muttered and grabbed his foot. “You defy my rules. You break my possessions. You are a clumsy and stupid little boy!”

She pulled off his shoes and his socks with force.

“Maman, please, I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry, please!” Sirius wailed.

“Sorry? Transgressions are not mended by sorry, boy. You know that. They are only mended by punishment. You will feel sorry, I can guarantee that! Now, walk!”

Sirius looked at her in shock. She pointed at the shards.

“Walk,” she hissed.

Hot tears were searing Sirius’ face. He didn’t want to. He was afraid of the pain. He begged her to just let him go. Walburga didn’t believe in mercy. She grabbed his hair, pulled him off the bed and pushed him into the shards.

Sirius stumbled, crying and screaming as the sharp edges wedged into his skin.

“Walk,” she hissed again.

And Sirius walked. He walked up and down the little bed of broken glass until every shard was left bloody and his feet numb. The pain had spread through his little body. She put him through worse, but this would become a core memory later.

He walked until he thought he would pass out from pain. He fell to his knees in front of her. The shards bored themselves into his legs and knees.

“You are pathetic,” she spat. “How could you turn into this when you came from my flesh? Your father doesn’t want to see you, child. And neither do I. No one wants you around. So leave and wash yourself off.”

She raised her foot and pushed against his shoulder.

Sirius stood up on shaky legs and stepped out of the glass field. He brushed the glass off his knees and legs as well as he could and then dropped again to crawl back to his room.

“No,” Walburga said, “walk.”

Sirius looks away from the mirror. His foot twitches at the memory, accidentally kicking Oscar.

The man looks up, confused and removes his mouth from him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Sirius mutters. “Stop that. Just get up here and fuck me.”

Sirius crawls onto the bed and lies on his stomach.

His mother always knew what he was. Worthless. Stupid. Unwanted. Unlovable.

Of course, Remus wouldn’t love him. How could he? How could anyone? He is destined to be a whore and a sodomite, nothing more. How foolish he was to ever think differently. Foolish. Stupid. Pathetic.

When Sirius has to face Remus again, he won’t be any of these things. There won’t be any weakness in him. Remus is just a man. There are thousands like him. Thousands of men, more attractive and less disfigured, would worship Sirius for his beauty and never elicit undeserved feelings from him.

Remus Lupin will be nothing to him once he reaches Lioncrest.

***

Chapter Text

“For yon are the only being I care to please” Teleny 145

Regulus hasn’t been doing well the week leading up to his birthday. He obsessed over details like colour schemes, water spots on candelabras, and the font on the nametags for the dining room.

It got so bad that James decided to forcefully remove him from any room to be utilised at the ball and calm him down in the library. He made sure he ate for the first time in the day, read him a book, and tried to make him laugh by doing bad French accents (he was only semi-successful.) At the very least, he was able to distract Regulus quite a bit and let the servants carry out his instructions.

His birthday begins with Regulus being in a foul mood. He comes downstairs for breakfast with a deep frown and gritting his teeth. The injuries he sustained in London are fully healed, except for the pale scar on his cheek where he was cut.

“Happy Birthday,” James says when he enters, to which Regulus only hums. So, James tries again in French, “Joyeux anniversaire.”

He gets the same reaction.

“You look very handsome today,” he says next when Regulus sits down with only coffee and a quarter of plain toast. “Don’t you want to eat a bit more? It’s going to be a long day.”

“If I have to wear a dress all day, I would at least like to fit into it if that is okay with you,” he responds in a biting tone.

James glances up at Remus, who shrugs helplessly.

“Would you like to have your presents now or later?”

“I want the day to be over.”

“Darling, if I could skip time, I would.” He places a gentle hand on Regulus’ wrist. “You will be fine. I promise I will not leave your side for even a second tonight.”

Regulus looks at him with that old mistrust that cannot believe in good things until he sees them.

“Good morning,” Barty mutters, entering the breakfast room, “Happy Birthday.”

Regulus again responds with a disinterested hum.

“Are you in a bad mood, too?” James asks, “What is going on today?”

“Well, some of us may be happy at the thought of being around their family all night. I’m not one of them.” Barty scoops mountains of food on his plate and sits down. “Is your brother showing up here soon?”

“Around noon, he said.”

“Wonderful. And the guests?”

“Around eighteen o’clock.”

Barty hums. Regulus hums back. James doubts that the mood in the house will improve for the remainder of the day.

Sirius brings energy into the manor when he arrives. He hugs his brother and kisses his cheek, which isn’t well received by Regulus.

“Lighten up, mon petit,” Sirius smiles. “I brought presents.”

“I’m ecstatic,” Regulus deadpans. Sirius raises his eyebrow at James.

“He isn’t in a good mood because of the party.”

Sirius simply smiles and kisses his cheek again. Regulus shoves him. “Will you stop it?”

“No. I’m your brother. I have to annoy you.”

“You absolutely do not. I have enough stress as it is. I don’t need your silliness to top it all off.” He storms back into the manor, leaving James, Sirius, and some of the servants outside in the front courtyard.

“Did something happen?” Sirius asks.

“No, he has been on the verge of a breakdown for the past week. Don’t take it personally.”

“I’m not. I’m used to this behaviour. I was far more shocked that he didn’t behave like that last time I was here.” Sirius sighs and follows Regulus inside. Remus moves to take his coat. Sirius shifts away from him, takes it off himself and pushes it rather ungently into Remus’ hands. “Well, where did he go? I brought presents.”

“From Algeria?”

“Algeria, Germany, France. I’m spoiling him today.”

“Isn’t that my job as his husband?”

“Yes. And I do hope you are spoiling him, too.”

“I try. He’s not in the mood for it today.”

They find Regulus in the library and force him into one of the sitting rooms that isn’t in the process of getting decorated for the ball. They have the tea served, and Sirius eagerly shoves presents into Regulus’ hands.

“I’m not in the mood for presents.”

“Open it. You will like it.”

The first present is from Algeria. Sirius brought some of the olive oil their family produces for the kitchens. His gift for Regulus are finely worked silver cufflinks of Algerian craftsmanship with the letter R set into them and topped with a small stone. They manage to make Regulus break a smile.

From France, Sirius brought shoes and a perfume which supposedly smells like citrus fruits to ‘match the sour and bitter personality that you spread so delightfully.’

From Germany, Sirius brought a book. Regulus can easily be swayed by books, and his mood already improved significantly with the other presents. The book hasn’t been translated yet. Sirius explains how he met a German psychologist and bought a collection of articles and research from him concerning people of deviating sexuality and gender.

Personally, James isn’t convinced that today is the right day for such a present. Tomorrow, maybe, when this awful day is over. He can’t tell whether this is the right day, with everything that is still to come for Regulus, to think too much about himself and his situation. James believes in distraction.

“Darling, maybe you should read this another day,” James says carefully.

“Why? You keep pulling me away from planning my evening. Do I have anything better to do?”

“Yes. You can get your mind off this evening for the next few hours and enjoy our company. We can take a stroll if you like.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, what do you want to do? We’ll do anything you like.”

“Right now, I’m somewhere between locking myself in my rooms and drowning myself in a bathtub. Thoughts?”

James stares at him, horrified. “Do you want to make me unhappy, Reggie? Don’t talk like that.”

Regulus looks back at him, unimpressed. James wraps his arms around him and pulls their bodies together. Regulus grumbles against him. James kisses the top of his head, and Regulus falls instantly silent.

“You weren’t this distressed for Christmas, and the time you had to pretend was far longer,” he whispers.

Regulus doesn’t answer. James looks over to Sirius, who watches them with a surprised look on his face. He points questioningly from his brother to James and back as if he was asking what he was doing. He is comforting his husband, of course. Granted, he rarely hugs him like this and has never kissed his head before, but these are special circumstances.

“You’ll be okay, darling,” James mumbles into his curls.

Sirius clears his throat. “Should I.. leave you alone?”

James is almost willed to say yes.

“Yes,” Regulus says sharply.

Sirius gives his brother a look that escapes James’ understanding, then stands up and leaves.

James reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a silver pocket watch and dangles it in front of Regulus’ face.

Regulus carefully pulls himself out of James’ arms and sits up, looking at the watch.

“It’s beautiful,” Regulus mumbles.

“It’s my present for you. The chain will look nice with your green suits.”

Regulus reaches for the watch with tentative hands. The outside has a delicate pattern etched into it. Regulus opens it, revealing the watch gently ticking away. On the inside, opposite from the clock, James had the words ‘Regulus Black ~ Loin des Yeux, Près du Coeur engraved. It means Out of sight, close to the heart. He learned it from Sirius. He would sometimes sign his letters with those words or say them to James before leaving him. He thought it fitting for Regulus’ present. Even if Regulus was to be taken away from him, they will be connected. He doesn’t want to see Regulus slip out of his life, but he can promise he will not slip from his mind.

He can see Regulus swallowing upon reading the words. He hopes he wasn’t too presumptuous.

“I hope you won’t ever be out of my sight for long, but should the time ever come… you at least have this.”

Regulus looks up at him, his grey eyes spilling over with emotion James isn’t sure how to read. Appreciation, affection, …something else, maybe.

“Thank you,” Regulus says quietly.

“You’re welcome, darling. Please stop torturing yourself more than absolutely necessary about tonight. You know Sirius and I, and even Barty, will be there with you. You can leave anytime. I can make up some story about your health declining. It may be too late to cancel the entire ordeal, but Sirius and I could host alone while you stay upstairs and act sick.”

Regulus gently shakes his head. “I’m not about to embarrass you as thanks for all the good you do me, James.”

“You wouldn’t. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Jamie, I know you don’t care much about the gossip column, but other people do. You care what people think of you. You care that they like you. Your mother insisted on this ball tonight to officially introduce me to society. Your society. The people whose endorsement and good faith you need. And the entire thing will be reported in the press. Everyone living in Lyopot – everyone living in the county – will read and judge. When they judge me, they judge you. When they judge you, they judge your family. This evening matters a great deal more than Christmas. Christmas was about appealing to your family. This is about appealing to the country.”

Privately, James thinks ‘country’ is an exaggeration. He won’t fight him on the matter, though, not today.

The point of their marriage was to end Regulus’s suffering. He is supposed to live here to be Regulus. Instead, he makes himself suffer to make James look good. It seems utterly unfair. James can’t help but feel like he failed Regulus.

He reaches out and runs his hand over Regulus’ curls. “I’m sorry.”

Regulus blinks at him, confused.

“That you have to go through all this for me.”

Regulus sighs and softly shakes his head. “Idiot,” he mumbles affectionately. “How can you be sorry when you have given me more than I ever thought possible? How many men like me have someone like you in their life?”

James hums. “I wish it would ease your pain more.”

Regulus looks away from him. “I wish so, too, genuinely.” He suddenly stands up. “I should take a nap and gather my strengths for tonight. I do not wish to be disturbed except by Pandora.”

***

Hours later, Peter finishes dressing James for the ball. The great hall is prepared for an hour of champagne, light cocktails and conversation. Regulus and James are set to receive their guests there. Remus, in charge of everything going smoothly, announced a couple of minutes ago that the musicians had arrived and were setting up in the ballroom. They are to be fed of a small buffet separate from Regulus and the guests.

“I think I will wear the golden cufflinks,” James tells Peter.

“Pardon, my Lord. But Pandora told me that Lord Regulus insists you wear the silver and green ones.”

“He is aware that the colours of our House are red and gold, is he?”

“Very much aware, my Lord. The majority of the decoration is on par with your colours. I assume he wants you to match him, not the decoration.”

James agrees. If Regulus wants him to wear the green ones, he will wear the green ones. “But do add one of the lapel pins he bought for me in London.”

Peter picks up a tray of lapel pins and carries it over to James. “I think the green one would match Lord Regulus and the cufflinks. You could take the red one as a nod to your family colours.”

Disregarding Peter’s advice entirely, James picks one of the cute deer-shaped pins. One of the finer, silver ones.

“Or that one. Good choice, my Lord.”

James grins. “You hate it. I know it isn’t as formal as the others, but Regulus bought them specifically because he knows how much I like deer.”

Peter takes the pin and adds it to his jacket. For a grand occasion such as this, men have to wear White Tie. The Ladies are generally allowed more creativity with their dresses.

“Am I ready? How do I look?”

“Adequate, my Lord. Your parents and spouse will be pleased.”

James sighs. He can’t expect more from White Tie than adequate. “Thank you, Peter. You may go. And I don’t know when I will go to bed tonight, so don’t stay up. I’ll undress on my own.”

“Very well, my Lord.”

“And don’t wake me before nine tomorrow morning. I expect to stay up late.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

James grins at him, straightens his glasses and takes a box from one of the tables. It is made up like a Birthday present, with an extravagant red bow around it.

He leaves his dressing room and walks down the hall to Regulus’ rooms.

He is about to knock when he hears Pandora’s voice through the thin wood. “He will like it, I’m certain. That is some consolation, isn’t it?”

“No. The opposite, rather,” he hears the muffled voice of Regulus.

“If you want, we can burn it after tonight. It will make a beautiful little fire one can roast food over. Doesn’t that sound fun?” Pandora’s voice gets higher as her delight increases.

“I had it custom-made. Burning it right away sounds like a waste of money.”

“Wasting money is for rich people to commit and poor people to lament about, not the other way around, my Lord. Since when do you care about wasting money.”

“My money didn’t buy the dress.”

“Technically, you are married to Lord James, so his money is your money. It is a very delicate fabric. It will burn delightfully.”

James hears Regulus hum in agreement. “I will wait to see how he likes it. I don’t burn dresses he likes.”

Who is the ‘he’ they are referring to? Do they mean James? It could be Sirius just as well, though he most likely doesn’t appreciate the dresses of his brother in quite the same fashion James or Barty do. He doesn’t want them to mean Barty.

“Like the silver one from New Year's?”

“Yes. He liked it, so I’m keeping it for special occasions.”

James loved the New Year’s dress apart from the discomfort it caused Regulus so clearly that James could read it off him. Maybe they do mean him.

James carefully knocks on the door. Pandora opens and smiles. “Oh, Lord James. Lord Regulus is almost finished.”

“Have you done his hair yet?”

“No. I want to do that now.”

“Can I speak to him first?”

Pandora looks at him unsurely, then looks back into the room to Regulus.

“Let him in.”

Pandora steps aside for him to enter.

Regulus is sitting in front of the vanity in a long, dark green gown. His pale shoulders are mostly bare, pulling his protruding collarbone into focus. He has his gloved hands clasped in his lap and is wearing a pearl bracelet around one of his wrists. He is, put simply, the most stunning creature James has ever laid eyes on. His face flushes a more intense red the longer James stares at him.

He pulls his eyes away. He knows Regulus hates looking like this. James isn’t here to add to his discomfort - quite the contrary.

“Do you like it?” Regulus asks quietly.

“I…” This feels like a trap. “The dress is pretty.”

Regulus frowns. “I can change it; put on the silver.”

“No. Gods, no…Unless you want to, of course.”

Regulus frowns even deeper.

“I mean, how are you feeling, Reggie?”

Regulus shrugs. “Not better. Not much worse. I keep reminding myself that I’m doing this for your benefit.”

“I would never ask you to-“

“Please. Do not take that away from me. I am doing it for you because you do so much for me. I can put myself through this for one night for you.”

The words send a warm shower through his boy. He smiles and draws closer until he can sit down on a chair that Pandora must have occupied in preparation for doing Regulus’ hair.

“Thank you. Your appearance is perfect for tonight’s cause. You put a lot of effort and thought into this whole evening, and I swear, after it is over, you will not have to dress up like this for a long time.”

Regulus hums and reaches for James’ wrist to inspect the cufflinks he is wearing. They are a perfect match for Regulus’ necklace.

“Unfortunately, I suspect that the amount of time that passes between having to dress up like this proportionally affects my capability of bearing the discomfort.”

“You mean, more time between makes it worse?”

He nods without looking at him.

James sets the box aside and takes Regulus’ hands in his. “Hey, Reg, my darling, one day, you won’t ever have to dress up like her again or be called Viscountess or anything else. There will be a last time to this, and until then, you can rely on me to be by your side.”

Regulus looks up at him again. Pandora must have put a shadow of colour on his eyes to pull focus on them – if any of Regulus’ features do not need to call for attention, it’s his eyes. They gleam perfectly silver today, matching the details on the green dress.

“Promise not to leave me alone too much tonight.”

“I promise. I don’t see any reason to be away from you at all.”

“I will have to dance with other people, I’m afraid.”

“It will be the only time you’re out of my arms tonight if I can help it.”

If nothing else, James managed to make Regulus smile with this. He hopes it won’t be the last smile of the evening, but he has the inkling it might be.

He points at the box with his chin. “What is that?”

“Oh, it’s a present.” James lets go of Regulus and lifts the box.

“Another present?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, you won’t like it. You won’t want it. But I think you should have it.” He lets Regulus pull on the satin band around it. James tips the lid back and reveals a silver and white-gold tiara. “They won’t be able to write that you didn’t have one.”

Regulus looks at it like he is trying to figure out how to react.

“I know it’s not a good present for you. It is simply to complete the look for tonight. Also, I designed it.”

“You?”

“Well, with help. I gave the inspiration to the jeweller.” James lifts the tiara from the box and carefully places it in Regulus’ hair. The white and silver metal sparkles like stars in his dark curls. “You look like a fairytale prince.”

Regulus rolls his eyes.

“No, really. Look in the mirror.” James stands behind him and looks at him through the mirror. He reaches out and tilts the glass up until Regulus can only see himself from his neck upwards. “I based it on the illustrations in our fairytale books. It’s a crown befitting a prince. Of course, Pandora will have to use your hair to cover the part back here so it doesn’t look too treasonous. But you look like a prince.”

Regulus pushes his lips from side to side, looking at himself and tilting his head. “I do,” he says quietly and settles for a smile.

James grins at him through the mirror and runs his hand over his curls. “Think about that tonight, nothing else. You’re my prince in disguise.”

Regulus reaches back for James’s hand and brings it around to press his lips against James’ fingers and palm.

“I will wait outside for you so Pandora can finish your hair, okay?”

“Thank you,” Regulus whispers, kissing his hand again before setting him free.

***

Regulus rotates the bracelet into place and nervously pulls on his gloves. He takes a deep breath. He just needs to get through the evening. He has done it a hundred nights before. He has done it for years at home. He simply needs to find that point in his brain where he can detach himself from his emotions and fulfil his duties.

He hasn’t had to do it since Christmas. He went a long time without doing it between his wedding and Christmas, too.

His feelings are too tangled right now. He is confused and unsure about James’ intentions. Seeing him brings a rush of emotions taking hold of him. The turmoil elevates every emotion and every feeling, including his discomfort.

James doesn’t help by being his usual romantic self. His promises, presents, and touch make his heart beat out of his chest, only making it harder for Regulus to detach himself from his feelings. At the same time, James is an incredibly calming presence. He is like a warm blanket wrapping himself around Regulus with every word. James has copious amounts of energy, and yet – or maybe because - he can distract and calm him down instantly.

You’re my prince, James said as if it wasn’t the most devastatingly romantic thing anyone had ever said to Regulus.

Pandora gives him an encouraging smile and opens the door for him. James waits across the corridor. He looks up and smiles.

He offers his hand for Regulus to take.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. Downstairs, there is alcohol.”

James laughs lightly and squeezes his hand.

This day is pushing him into realms of delusion and insanity. Ever since Regulus came back from London, James has been pushing him there, to be exact. James, with his jealousy, with his care, with a sudden craving for proximity and physical touch. James with his promises and presents and hugs.

It has been driving him insane. It feels almost as if…
Regulus isn’t prone to hope or optimism. He blames Dorcas and McKinnon for making him believe their love is within reach for him, too.

James's behaviour makes him think maybe he feels for him, too. Maybe his jealousy doesn’t stem from worry or a rivalry but just that – jealousy. Maybe his wish to keep Regulus around isn’t rooted in his fear of being alone and separation anxiety but rooted in affection. Maybe he keeps touching his hair and his face because he wants to be close to him and feel him under his fingertips the way Regulus craves to feel James’ heated skin.

James leads him down the stairs to the Great Hall. The place is decked out in red tones and gold. The evening is supposed to get progressively darker. The red in the dining hall consists of shades of wine. The ballroom is held in deep ruby reds, Bordeaux and gold. They are the colours of James’ family. Regulus thinks it is rather basic and yet overly presumptuous for a minor noble house.

Sirius and Barty are already waiting with champagne glasses in their hands.

“Wow,” Barty smirks when they reach the bottom of the stairs. He hands him a glass of champagne. “All those ladies coming tonight better hold on to their husbands. Does this town have a hospital specialising in heart conditions caused by surprising stiffness?”

Sirius rams his elbow into his side and swears in French.

James shoots Barty a dirty look. “Shut up, Crouch.”

Sirius shakes his head. “Don’t listen to him, mon petit.”

“My Lord,” Remus appears in the Hall. “The guests are arriving.”

Regulus knocks back the champagne and pushes the glass back into Barty’s hand.

To receive the guests, Regulus and James position near the vast, bent doorway from the entrance hall to the Great Hall.

“Deep breath, darling,” James whispers. “Always remember two things: One, you are a Prince.”

Regulus rolls his eyes instead of smiling. “And two?”

“You are better and more handsome than all of them.”

This time, Regulus does allow himself to smile.

The first guests to arrive are James’ parents. They wish Regulus a happy birthday and compliment him but are quickly whisked away by Sirius, who demands their attention with his tales of Algeria.

The rest of Lady Euphemia’s family comes as one group as well. Frank and Alice appear together. Alice is wearing a lovely purple dress and is quite obviously pregnant. Euphemia is delighted at the sight. The Agent, Mr Mulciber, and his family arrive next, followed by the Avery family. The Averys are prominent political figures in the county. Regulus doesn’t care about them.

“The Duchess of Ravenclaw and Lord Xenophilius Lovegood,” Lupin announces.

An older woman in a dark blue dress enters. A sapphire-set tiara sits in her grey hair. A young, blond man walks by her side.

Regulus curtseys to the duchess.

“That is her youngest son,” James whispers when they are out of earshot. “Would you believe me if I said all his brothers have perfectly normal names, and he is the odd one out?”

“No.”

“It’s true. His brothers are Isaac, Galileo, Antoine, Charles and Gregor. My Father loves them. They are named after scientists. He wanted to do the same with me, you know his love for natural science, but my mother wouldn’t let him.”

“You consider Galileo a normal name?”

“He is just called Leo. At any rate, it is far more normal than Xenophilius, don’t you think?”

“I think she simply ran out of interesting men by number six.”

James smirks at him. “Aren’t you insulting yourself when you say such things?”

“I have never claimed to be interesting nor a scientist. But you said it yourself: I am better than all of them, no?”

“You are,” James sighs and shakes his head.

“Baron Lestrange, Baroness Lestrange, and Monsieur Rabastan Lestrange,” Lupin announces next.

Regulus freezes. He sucks in a breath and looks towards the doorway. He knows his family is coming. Yet, James distracted him so much throughout the day that he barely had time to prepare for this encounter.

Bellatrix, Regulus’ cousin, wears an opulent, beaded black gown and black velvety gloves. Her lips and cheeks are painted a rosy colour, and she wears a subtle band in her curly hair. She sticks out like a sore French thumb.

“Cousine,” Bellatrix coos as if they ever liked each other. She kisses his cheeks and speaks exclusively in French to him. Her husband and brother-in-law stand behind her like guards.

Bella shifts her interest to James. “And the Englishman. We met at the wedding.”

If James is thrown off by her behaviour, he doesn’t show it. He takes her hand and bows slightly. “Baron Lestrange, it is a blessing to see you again.”

Regulus bites his tongue at his mistake. Bellatrix rolls her eyes at him and steps away. The men give them a formal greeting before being swept away by Bella.

“You called her Baron instead of Baroness,” Regulus whispers to James.

He sighs. “Get an easier language.”

Regulus smiles. “She looks horribly French, no? I swear she did it to provoke your family.”

“She has a lot of paint on her face,” James mumbles.

“Even for a French woman.”

“Where is she sitting again?”

“Between her husband and a Londoner named Riddle.”

“Riddle? Are you sure?”

“Yes, he was on the list your mother gave me. Something about being the new heir to an old family and fortune. His connection could potentially become important for you. Either as a friend or an enemy. Why? Do you know him?”

James blinks, confused. “I’m almost certain he is Lupin’s old employer.”

“Mr and Mrs Oscar Wilde.”

James isn’t happy with this guest. His mood improves significantly when Oscar barely gives Regulus a second glance. The Wildes are followed by the Earl and Countess of Hufflepuff, Lord Riddle, and Mr Severus Snape.

Lupin shows no reaction when he announces Riddle’s name, except that he purposefully hides his face from the man. He is a young aristocrat with dark hair and a handsome face. His black eyes never leave Regulus while bowing and saying, “It is a pleasure to be here tonight, my Lady, and to finally meet you in person.” Something about his voice and the look in his eyes makes Regulus profusely uncomfortable. He almost draws his hand back, but if his mother taught him one thing, it was how to control his body.

“I don’t like him,” James whispers.

“Me neither.”

“Mr Severus Snape.”

Regulus now sees the man who slandered him in the press for the first time. He is a pale man with damaged and dirty black hair he didn’t bother to tie in a ponytail, unlike Sirius.

He doesn’t look up at Regulus’s face but glares at James while exchanging a cold greeting. He hurries away from them as quickly as possible and joins the other guests. When he goes to get a glass of champagne as well, Barty bumps into him. He leans closer, grins that mad grin of his and whispers something. Snape nervously steps back.

Regulus makes a mental note to ask Barty about this later when Remus announces the next guest: “Mr Evans and Miss Lily Evans.”

Regulus whips his head around. What was that? Lily? He didn’t invite Lily. She isn’t supposed to be here. She must have had the invitation to give to Remus even to be let in.

Regulus looks up at James. James doesn’t even look at him. He smiles at Lily while she approaches them.

“What is she doing here?” Regulus hisses.

James looks back at him, confused. He cannot answer before Lily and her father reach them.

Lily looks gorgeous. She is wearing an understated but elegant red gown that doesn’t clash with her orange-red curls she tied into a pretty updo, fixed with shiny hairpins. She fits in perfectly with James’ family colours and Lady Euphemia’s dress.

Did James invite her? Regulus can feel his heart beating against his chest while Lily curtseys for him. His entire body seems to pulsate against the corset until he feels sick to his stomach. There is the possibility of Lily recognising him. The far more prominent problem is – did James invite her? Did James invite his former courtship, the woman he loved, to his birthday? Was he being romantic and attentive all week, knowing he wanted her here and would have her in his reach again?

“Did you invite Lily Evans?” Regulus hisses when Lily and her father went to greet the other guests.

“Yes? Did no one tell you?”

“Why did you invite her? Are you insane? You cannot just invite people to my evening.”

James looks at him like he doesn’t know what the problem is. “She is a friend, and I want to keep her as a friend. I thought this would be a good opportunity to see her again. Neutral ground.”

In Regulus’ mind, this is the farthest from ‘neutral ground’ they could possibly get.

“And you did not care to ask me?”

“Why do I need your permission?”

“Because it is my birthday. I am your spouse, and she is-“ he stops himself. “I’ve been planning this event for months. You cannot just-“

“Hey, darling-“

“Don’t you dare call me darling right now.”

“It is all taken care of. No need to stress over anything. I placed her on the seating chart.”

“How dare you speak to me like I’m being unreasonable?”

“Maybe you are being unreasonable.”

Neutral ground. Lily fucking Evans. At his birthday party. His mind is racing, playing through dozens of scenarios. When did James get the idea? Why? When did he invite her? Did she know she would show up at the ball when Regulus met her in London? Is that why she asked about James and his wife? She wants him, still. He wants her, too. He missed her. That is why he wanted her here. Maybe he has had a change of mind concerning courting another. Perhaps he will tell Lily the truth and proposition her again. Neutral ground. For what? To speak about their relationship? Their future? Their past?

“Reg,” James says softly and touches his wrist. Regulus slaps his hand away.

“Don’t talk to me for the rest of the night, James. I put a lot of effort into this night, and if you use it for your silly little courtship of that woman, I will forget myself. Am I clear?”

James stares at him in shock, as if he genuinely didn’t understand what warranted this reaction.

Regulus turns away from him. The reception of Lady Emmeline Vance, a young heiress with several dead brothers and a sick father, and the Baron and Baroness Crouch go by in complete silence.

If Regulus counted correctly, his cousin Cissy and her husband are the only people missing.

“The Marquess and the Marchioness of Slytherin,” Lupin announces.

Narcissa enters in a beautiful gown in a lighter shade of green than Regulus is wearing. Her blond hair is elegantly draped and put up. The man by her side, the Marquess, has his long, white-blond hair tied back with a green ribbon. The Colours of the Black family, as well as the Malfoy family, which includes the Marquess and Narcissa, are green and black. Regulus and his family always enjoyed dressing in these colours. He likes it better against his skin than James’s red.

Narcissa also addresses him in French. She is less confrontational than her older sister and greets James in English.

“Look at you, all grown up and English,” Narcissa whispers to Regulus. “Now that we are both English noblewomen, you must visit us in our new home soon.”

Cissy has always been his favourite cousin. He doesn’t need to pretend with her as much as with the others.

“I really don’t want to,” he whispers back, which makes Narcissa smile at him.

“Ma petite, you did not change. How glad that makes me. I assume Bella has made a grand entrance?”

“As you can imagine.”

“I will talk to her. Happy Birthday, ma petite.”

She and her husband move to join the other guests as well.

“Darling,” James starts, and Regulus walks over to Lupin, wondering which part of ‘don’t talk to me’ didn’t register with James.

“Is that all?” Regulus asks Lupin.

“It appears so, my Lord.”

“Good, come with me to the dining room. I need to check the place cards.”

This is why James distracted him so much the past week, isn’t it? Regulus thought him romantic. Regulus thought he might feel for him. No, James wanted to stop him from looking at the seating charts again - that bastard.

“Is something wrong?” Remus asks when they enter the dining room. They hired extra sets of footmen for tonight, considering that they have three tables to wait on. Gideon is currently measuring the distance between plates and utensils from each other with a marked ruler, then between chair and table. Everything is looking splendid.

“Show me the seating chart.”

“I brought it downstairs already. But I know where he seated her.”

Regulus looks at him. “You knew?”

“I assumed he would tell you.”

“And I assumed James wouldn’t invite his courtship to the birthday celebration of his spouse, but here we are. If you are about to tell me that he put her at my table, I will turn this evening into a massacre so bloody it makes our revolution look like a stroll through fucking Cotswolds.”

Remus stares at him. “Would you like a drink, my Lord?”

“Just tell me,” Regulus mutters.

“Table two. Between her father and the Duchess’s son.”

Regulus exhales slowly.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Almost.” He goes to the first table and removes the little card with his name. He shifts the following names up one seat each until he can replace himself between Barty and Narcissa, which is so far out of James’s reach that they are not even sitting opposite each other, and James will have to crane his neck to see him.

“It is not my place to question your decisions, of course. But is this really warranted by James inviting Lily Evans?”

The look Regulus gives him likely reminds him why people call Regulus scary. He takes an unconscious step backwards.

“Why don’t you deal with your own shit, Lupin, like staring longingly at my brother while he thinks about riding Oscar Wilde’s cock.” Regulus rushes out of the dining room again.

He takes a deep breath before rejoining his guests. Sirius is by his side immediately. “Where were you? Are you okay?”

“I needed to check something in the dining room. I didn’t go missing.”

“James came to me and told me to ask you. He said you banned him from talking to him.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

Regulus looks at him, then nods discreetly towards Lily, who is making polite conversation with Euphemia and Fleamont. “It was not I who invited her. So ask me again, why, but this time guess first.”

Sirius looks from him to Lily to James. “We’ll talk later.”

“We’ll talk never. It is spelt out quite clearly.”

“Are you sure?” Sirius asks sceptically, “Because I don’t understand it.”

“Because you are stupid. Thank you for the demonstration.” He lets Sirius stand where he is and joins his cousins, knowing Sirius would need a lot of convincing to join a conversation with their family voluntarily.

James stares at Regulus, dismayed when they reach the dining room, and he realises how far away Regulus is suddenly placed – and next to Barty, to make matters worse.

“So,” Barty whispers when they are sitting, and multiple conversations have picked up around the table, “I take it Lily Evan’s appearance wasn’t planned by you.”

“Explain it to me, Barty,” Regulus whispers back. The footmen start bringing out the first Appetizers. “Why did he invite her?”

“I don’t know. Did you ask him?”

“He said, they are friends, and he wants to speak with her on neutral ground.”

Barty frowns. “This is neutral?”

“So, you agree, he is mad.”

“Absolutely.”

When the appetisers pass, Regulus takes exactly two stuffed mushrooms, eats one in very slow steps and pushes the other around on his plate, giving the impression of continued food-taking and eating.

“What if he plans to court her again?”

“I don’t know if he is that mad yet,” Barty mumbles.

“I gave him permission.”

“You what?”

“I permitted him should he want to be with a woman he can. Even her. Specifically her, actually. I even offered that he could tell her about our situation to be with her.”

Barty gives him a long look. He waits until the plates are cleared away and replaced. “I changed my mind: It is you who is mad.”

“Yes, but that was already established. This is not an either-or situation of madness.”

“Why would you tell him that?”

“It was last November when I first heard of their courtship, and that girl came into the sitting room and slapped James in her distress.”

Barty subtly cranes his neck towards the other table. He turns to him again. “She slapped him?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re only telling me this now? Are you aware of how much fun I could have had with this information?”

“Barty, focus.”

The soup is brought out next.

“My point is,” Regulus continues when he deems the other conversations loud enough again, “what if he brought her here, invited her, and didn’t tell me about it because he wants to confess his love for her again and propose to her? Again? What if he wanted her here because he still loves her and is tired of being away from her?”

Barty looks over to James. “Does it help when I tell you he is only staring at one person right now, and it is not Lily?”

“He is only staring because he can’t figure out why I’m upset.”

“You really did choose the daftest person in this house to fall in love with.”

“At least he is a future Earl who buys me pretty things, not a coachman who slaps me.”

“First of all, I get stiff only thinking about him slapping me.”

Regulus, who grew up sitting beside Sirius for dinner, does not react. He does glance at Narcissa next to him to see whether she heard him. If she did, she doesn’t show a sign of it.

“Eat your soup, Barty.”

Remus starts replacing the wine for the main courses. Usually, when he and Sirius are in the same room, they can barely take their eyes off each other. They cannot be in each other’s space without flirting. Now, Sirius acts like Remus is a ghost. Objectively, he does not treat him any differently than the other guests. However, the other guests do not hold Lupin in deep affection.

Regulus makes sure to look at every guest at least once, if even for only a few seconds, except for James. If James is watching, he will notice.

***

Regulus is ignoring James. Just straight-up ignoring. He seemed so pleased when James repeatedly promised not to leave his side tonight, and now he banned him from talking to him. He even switched the seats so they wouldn’t sit with each other.

He thought Regulus knew about Lily. Telling him has honestly slipped his mind. The man had been obsessing over every detail of this evening. James assumed he looked at the seating charts a thousand times and saw Lily’s name. One way or another, he didn’t expect Regulus to get this upset about it.

Now, he sits next to Barty and keeps whispering with him. Sirius is talking about Algerian olive oil and the lands they own down there, which prompted James’ father to speak of botany and genealogy, demonstrating some theory with his peas.  

James has to lean forward and crane his neck in order to see Regulus properly, which doesn’t stop him. Barty looks back at him at some point and then says something to Regulus again. No doubt, he slanders him to Regulus to make his situation worse.

“Are you okay, James?” Sirius asks quietly. “You’re being quiet. Don’t worry about Reggie. He will calm down.”

He reaches for his wine.

“But did you honestly invite Lily without talking to him first?”

“I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“Men,” Sirius mutters and glares up. He doesn’t glare at James, however. He follows his line of sight and curiously, lands on Remus.

There has been an uncomfortable silence between them since Sirius arrived today. They had never been friends, but they were always talking. There was always banter between them, grins, and jokes. Now, they are just silent, and this glare might have been the first time he looked at him at all.

“Is everything alright, Sirius? With you and Remus?”

Sirius frowns at him. “Me and Remus? What makes you think there is anything?”

He stabs the food on his plate.

“That, for example.”

“You think you can figure anything out when you don’t even know why your spouse is angry with you for inviting Lily?” He looks over to Regulus and Barty. “What is Crouch doing here anyway?”

“He lives here now,” James grumbles.

Sirius frowns at him. “How come?”

“I think his father banned him from their home. He and Regulus are friends now.” He rolls his eyes and stabs his food in a similar fashion to Sirius.

“What do you reckon they could ever bond over?” Sirius asks confused.

“I don’t know… he respects him, that is something. They went to London together recently. …You know your sibling better than me. Do you reckon something has happened between them?”

Sirius frowns. “What? No. Regulus would never go for a thrill-chaser like Barty. He needs comfort and softness at home.”

Barty surely isn’t comforting or soft.

“What are you boys whispering about?” Fleamont asks lowly.

“I was just about to say,” Sirius says with a smile, “how my sibling has always wanted to marry a romantic and kind man. Good-natured and respectful of all her feelings and silly little ideas. Remind you of someone, James?”

The distraction works perfectly fine. Fleamont smiles and then turns to the Duchess on his other side.

Sirius is right. Regulus needs a soft man providing a safe and comfortable home for him. At least, that takes Barty out of the equation. Perhaps, he thinks, that is why Regulus speaks about leaving more often than James does. Maybe Regulus talks about needing friends when he has to leave Lioncrest because he seeks to find not only release from people knowing him as someone else but also the love of a calm and virtuous man.

Perhaps, like for Lily, he is too intense for Regulus.

The rest of the main course and the desserts pass by in a blur. His mind is on Regulus. He knows many people get annoyed with him quickly. He is too loud, too energetic, and talks too much – fairytales, lions, deer, the gardens, plans. He gets intense fast. Lily often criticised him for it. Barty hated it ever since they met. Sirius relates to it because he wanted to be loud and talkative but was never given the chance.

The thought of Regulus, of all people in the world, thinking of him like this, presses painfully against his chest and turns his stomach.

The Duchess starts a conversation with Regulus about his family history. James barely listens to the lies he tells her but lets his voice echo through his head just in case he doesn’t have much time with him anymore.

***

The kind of tiaras worn by noble women for parties, fancy dinners and balls

The kind of reference James would have used for Regulus' tiara.

Like, we are talking these kind of Ken Prince tiaras instead of all the fine detail and flower-esque details of the women above

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry; forgive me. You know I’m mad – everyone says so” Teleny 144

The ballroom is held in deep, dark reds and gold. The small orchestra they hired is prepared to begin.

Regulus is talking to the Earl and Countess Hufflepuff at the moment. The smile on his face is perfectly polite, but James can see past the falseness of it.

He is finally able to free himself from the elderly couple and approaches James with his brother.

Sirius grabs a glass of champagne while coming over. “James. Regulus, in his incomparable maturity, ordered me to tell you it is time to officially open the ball.”

James looks past him. “Will you still not talk to me?”

Regulus doesn’t answer.

James sighs and takes the champagne from Sirius.

“Do you have an idea what to say?”

“I knew I had to hold a speech. I prepared something.”

Regulus looks up at him, surprised.

Sirius frowns. “You? Prepared? I didn’t know you knew what that meant.”

Of course, James prepared. This is important to Regulus, and as his husband, it is James’s duty to deliver a small toast in his honour before the dancing can start.

James clears his throat to gain the attention of the guests.

“My Lords and Ladies, Gentlemen, and dear friends, my spouse and I want to thank all of you for coming here tonight from the bottom of our hearts. My mother suggested we organise a dance ball for tonight, and before we begin the part of the evening we have come for, I would like to say a few words in honour of my lovely wife.”

James offers his hand to Regulus. He does not wish to make their disagreement public knowledge, so he puts his gloved hand in his and steps forward.

“In less than a year of marriage, my spouse has enriched my life in ways I could scarcely have imagined. I am forever thrilled by and grateful for this marriage. When we first met in France many years ago, I was enthralled by her beauty. Since then, I came to know her genius, her humour, and her passion.” He turns to him. Regulus has an impassive look on his face, like he isn’t entirely with them. James squeezes his hand to bring him back. “My Darling, you have graced my existence with immeasurable joy. I am grateful that you let me get to know the person behind the pretty face because you turned out to be the most precious person in the world. This past year has been the happiest time of my life simply because you were in it. The 22 years you've spent on this earth haven't been enough, and I'm looking forward to being part of your next 22 years. …So, now, before we open this ball, let us drink to the health of my beautiful spouse.”

James raises his glass to Regulus. The guests toast to his health. Regulus tightens his fingers around James’ hand as the room echoes his old name.

James places the glass on a tablet held by one of the footmen and leads Regulus to the middle of the dance floor.

James places his hand on the back of Regulus’ dress. Regulus holds on to his shoulder. When they danced in the music room, Regulus slipped his fingers between his shirt and waistcoat, and James twirled him around a thousand times and pulled him closer than necessary – or appropriate, for that matter. This time, they will have to exhibit proper behaviour. They are supposed to look good doing this, not have a tremendous amount of fun.

The Orchestra starts playing. The tune is the same as they had in the music room but fuller. James guides Regulus through the dance. Their steps are precise and effortless as they glide across the polished marble dance floor in perfect harmony. After the first set of steps, the other guests join them. The rustle of silk gowns and the subtle clinking of heels blend with the waltz's melody.

“Are you okay?” James whispers.

Regulus doesn’t answer.

“Are you still angry with me?”

“It was a nice speech,” he whispers tightly. “Probably counterproductive for your plans with Lily.”

James looks confused around the room until he spots Lily dancing with his cousin Ferdinand Tremblay. James isn’t sure how his speech supposedly affects Lily.

He sighs and looks back at Regulus. “Okay. I apologise for not asking you before inviting Lily. I did not keep it from you on purpose, darling, I swear.”

Regulus looks up at him. “Why did you invite her?”

“Because I missed her. We are friends. At least I want to be her friend again. Also, you read what Snape wrote about you and her. Her presence proves that there is no ill blood between you.”

“Have you thought about what happens when she recognises me?”

“How would she?”

“She met Regulus.”

“Briefly,” James shrugs.

Regulus angrily steps on his foot. He is too good at this for it to have been an accident.

“Ouch,” James whispers accusatorily.

“Why are you not taking me seriously? You’re always taking me seriously, except when it comes to her.”

“Maybe because you are being unreasonable when it comes to her. I do not understand why you take such issue with her presence. She has never done anything to you.”

Regulus presses his lips together and looks away from him. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

“I understand you are upset because you planned this in detail, and I intercepted. I’m sorry for that.”

He can see how Regulus squints his eyes and swallows heavily.

“I don’t want to dance anymore.”

James slowly guides them to the edge of the dancing crowd. “Have I said the wrong thing again?”

Regulus looks up at him. “You always do.”

He always does. He always says the wrong thing. He knows he does. But this time, he cannot figure out what he said for the life of him.

***

Sirius stops Regulus from walking away when he tries to rush past him. The skirts of his dress move against each other in jarringly loud rustling sounds.

“Hey, Reggie. Come, dance with me,” he says compassionately.

Regulus looks back at him, blinking furiously at him. His eyes hurt, and he isn’t entirely certain for how long he can control his body.

Sirius recognises the look on his face. “Okay, come with me.”

He discreetly leads him away and through a servant’s door.

“Mon petit,” he whispers when they are alone and goes to hug him. Regulus pushes him away. He hits his shoulder.

“It’s your fault. I blame you.”

“For what?”

For making him marry James. For having a friend that is as irresistible as he is daft. For making him marry someone and fall in love with someone who loves somebody else. For everything. He needs to blame someone.

But it isn’t Sirius’ fault, of course. It is Regulus’ fault. He knew James loved Lily. He knew falling for him was pointless. He knew he shouldn’t have indulged his feelings. He knew James was a kind person, which, at the end of the day, meant he was kind to everyone and did not mean anything more by it when he was kind to Regulus.

“Why did he invite her?” Regulus whispers. His voice breaks in the middle.

Sirius goes to hug him again. Regulus lets him. “Oh, mon petit. He is stupid like all men. Believe me, I doubt that he still loves her. I doubt he has truly loved her for quite some time. But he definitely did not bring her here to court her and humiliate you.”

Regulus clings to his brother. “For how long are you staying?”

“I don’t know, mon petit. I didn’t want to stay long. Things are… complicated.”

“I know something happened with Remus. Please stay. Sirius, help me. I poison Remus if you like. I cut his toes, but stay here.”

Sirius rubs his back. “I will. Don’t hurt him just yet. You’re my little brother; I’m here to hurt your lovers, not you mine.”

He pulls back and rubs his thumps over Regulus’ cheeks.

“Is this where you finally admit that you are in love with my best friend?” Sirius asks with a smile. “I knew you were in January.”

“I know it is stupid. But the way he behaved the last weeks, I thought…” he exhales shakily. “It’s the English air. It is driving me insane and making me delusional.”

“You’re not delusional. When I watched you earlier in the sitting room, I, too, thought something had happened between you and him. The man is blind when it comes to feelings sometimes. Especially the romantic feelings of others but also his own.”

This evening is simply too much. James’ romantic words don’t mirror his actions. James’ romantic actions don’t mirror his patronising words. Did anything he said in his speech resemble his true feelings? Or does he simply think of him as unreasonable now? Does James want Lily’s love or her friendship? Does he want her or Regulus? How is James so jealous of Barty but doesn’t recognise Regulus’ jealousy when it comes to Lily? And why did James not even consider the risk of Lily recognising him when he invited her? Did Regulus matter so little when he decided to send her an invitation?

It is driving him insane.

The entire evening is pain stacked on top of pain. He feels physically exhausted. He feels his body too much. He is hyperaware of every misshapen bit of skin that makes him different from Sirius. Even his hands feel small and womanish, highlighted by the long satin gloves. Every feminine line is cutting into him. Pain is steadily pulsating through his brain without a focused source that Regulus could cut out. Usually, he is able to regulate it and push it out with his suits, the corset, his haircut, and the way James and Barty treat him. Today, wearing the dress, looking like the perfect Viscountess, and being called ‘beautiful’, ‘pretty’ and by his old name feels like repetitive blows to the gut. And then James comes, pulls him away from the hurt and pushes him right back in all day.

Sirius rubs his arms and kisses his forehead. “Mon petit, you will be fine. If you like, I tell Remus to bring the cake sooner, and afterwards, you can blame fatigue and illness and go upstairs. Just say the word. But don’t think too much about James. I love him. He is my best friend. But he is honestly daft sometimes. It is the illness of men, Frérot. I fear it will befall you, too.”

“Don’t say such things. I will never be as stupid as all of you. We need more intelligent men in the world, and I am gracious enough to help out.”

Sirius smirks. “You say that. And yet, you fell for James Potter and are out here crying about him like a proper, foolish man.”

Regulus glares up at him but has to force his mouth into neutrality.

“Go ahead, smile. Then go back in there, and don’t lose your head over James. Always remember, he is funny and good-looking, but he is so focused on other people’s problems that he has no clue about himself. And he doesn’t want to hurt you.”

Regulus nods slowly. He takes a deep breath and follows Sirius back into the ballroom.

Regulus grabs a glass of champagne and scans the room. James’ parents are dancing with each other. Bellatrix is dancing with Lord Riddle while her husband and brother-in-law stand on the side, watching. The Agent’s son is twirling around Constance Wilde. Lady Emmeline is paired up with Lord Abbot, and Rowena is on the floor with Snape, which is interesting enough in itself.

James is dancing with Lily.

He twirls her around like he did with Regulus. She smiles as her dress billows around her. Don’t they just make the perfect couple?

“Reg,” Sirius whispers, “Don’t –“

Regulus raises his hand, telling him to stop. How is it possible that this isn’t deliberate? James wants to make him jealous? He has no idea who he is playing with.

Regulus spots Barty speaking with the Baroness tucked away in a corner. He passes Sirius and approaches the two of them.

“Mother, leave him,” Barty says, probably not for the first time. “Please.”

“My boy, you’re talking nonsense. Take the money.”

“I don’t want his money.”

“You need it. You cannot rely on Lord James to let you stay forever.”

“You mean because I will annoy them until they throw me out, too?”

“That is not what I said.”

“But it is.” He smacks his lips together. “Just leave him. You can stay here with me.”

The Baroness slowly shakes her head and smiles at her son. She sees Regulus over Barty’s shoulder.

“My Lady,” she says politely. “I wanted to thank you for opening your home to my son.”

“Of course. Barty, can I speak with you?”

Barty sighs. “Yes. I guess we are done here, Mama, aren’t we?”

She looks at him apologetically and leaves Barty and Regulus alone.

“Where did you go?”

“Just outside. James thinks I’m unreasonable for being upset about Lily.”

“Well…”

“Do not anger me, Barty. Not today.”

“Okay, fine. Your jealousy for the woman who sees James as a lost chance at best and a safety net at worse, and anger for the man who looks at you like you invented the lamp, is completely justified and reasonable.”

“Given your history of insanity, your assessments of the two mean nothing. Now, ask me to dance.”

“Pardon?”

“Ask me to dance. Now. He is dancing with Lily. I will dance with you.”

Barty chuckles. “And they call me insane. Well then. May I have this dance?”

Regulus takes his hand. “Make sure to dance close to him.”

James doesn’t need long to notice Regulus and Barty. He almost falls out of step with Lily in surprise. He ends his dance with her rather quickly.

“Satisfied?” Barty asks when James leads Lily away.

“Yes. …No. I don’t know what I’m doing. I should focus on other things than stupid men. What about your mother? Why do you want her to stay here?”

Barty bites the inside of his cheek. “Because my father is a tosser. He doesn’t deserve her. But she won’t listen to me.”

“Divorce isn’t easy for women to achieve. And for a Baroness, it is a scandal, too.”

“She doesn’t need to divorce him. She just needs to leave.”

“Maybe you can cause him a proper heart attack, and he dies. Life as a widow brings enormous perks.”

Barty nods thoughtfully. “I can certainly give it a try. Have we danced enough? Not that you’re not fantastic, but I’m not in the mood for this.”

Regulus cranes his neck to see James, who is watching them with a frown while drinking wine.

“Yes, we can stop. I think this served its purpose wonderfully. Thank you.”

Barty leads him away from the dance floor again. Lupin quickly approaches him.

“We are now ready for the cake,” he whispers. “Whenever you wish it to be brought out.”

“How much time has passed since dinner?”

“About 90 minutes.”

“Very good. Yes, bring the cake.”

Regulus positions himself close to James without talking to him. The servants assemble a small buffet on one side of the ballroom that is to last for the rest of the night. They also bring plates of lemon cake. Regulus makes a quick announcement regarding the buffet. He thanks the guests for coming and for the well-wishes for his birthday, trying to look as sincere as possible.

With this, his duty for the evening is fulfilled. He genuinely thinks about going upstairs. But he knows this evening will reflect on the family. He promised it would put the Viscountess and James’ family in a good light. He cannot embarrass them by leaving early or making the Viscountess seem weak and fragile. So, he stays downstairs.

His cousins take up about an hour of his time, gossiping and badmouthing the English. After they are whisked away to dance again, Lily finally approaches him.

Regulus sees her coming and tries to evade her.

“My Lady,” she says when he turns away.

Regulus scrunches his face together and considers ignoring her altogether. Unfortunately, right next to him, he notices Euphemia. Good Lady Gryffindor probably won’t take too kindly to seeing Regulus ignoring Lily and walking away from her.

After this evening, he will take a week off from being friendly and agitate everyone he possibly can just for the fun of it.

He turns to Lily. “Miss Evans.”

“I wanted to thank you for inviting me. It was very kind.”

“I didn’t invite you.”

Lily blinks at him, confused. “Oh, I… I’m sorry.”

Regulus looks at her with impassive eyes. Lily clears her throat. “It is a lovely ball. …It is funny that we have never met in person before, isn’t it?”

“Why would we have met?”

He can see how Lily grows increasingly uncomfortable in front of him. A part of him feels bad about it. He is logical enough to know that she hasn’t done anything wrong. He is even logical enough to know James hasn’t done anything wrong despite unknowingly feeding his delusions and inviting Lily for tonight. However, he is not in the mood to be logical right now.

“Well, Lord James and I were friends for some time.”

“Friends. Apologies, English is not my native language. Is that how you pronounce it? I thought it was ‘courtship’ and ‘rejection’. I may be wrong, of course.”

Lily glances over towards James. “No. You are correct. But we were friends in between. I know he is married to you, and I do not intend to interfere-“

“But you think you could interfere.”

She bites her tongue. “I-. No. I mean, James would never be unfaithful. He loves you. I met your brother in London, has he told you? He told me how in love you and James are. And I see it. It’s wonderful. I am happy for you, truly.”

Regulus keeps looking at her.

“Where is your brother, if I may ask? Not Lord Sirius. The younger, Lord Regulus.”

“France. Our parents are sick, and he had to return to them.”

“Oh, how unfortunate.”

“If you think so.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, blushing. “He is nice, your brother.”

“Someone has to be.”

“Right…” She looks closer at his face as if she was looking for something. “It is funny how similar you and he look.”

“We are twins. And you know what they say about dogs and their owners. They look alike because they spend a lot of time with each other. My brother and I have only ever spent ten minutes of our life apart, which happened when one was born and the other still in the womb. Although I do believe that they only say that about dogs and owners to make Englishmen feel better about their appearance.”

She chuckles nervously. “Well, we cannot all be as attractive as the French. I really like your dress. It is beautiful.”

Regulus hums. “From the look of yours, I assume art in London is going well?”

She looks at her dress. “It belongs to my sister, actually. She doesn’t wear it anymore, and a friend of mine altered it for me. She is very talented in sewing, singing and dancing. Everything really. She is so lovely.” She smiles into the distance like reminded of a lovely little dream. She gets back to herself and smiles shily. “Maybe your brother has told you about her? Mary? We met your brother and Mr Crouch in London.”

“Yes. He told me.”

“Your brother and Mr Crouch had quite the adventure on their trip. He was quite injured. I was wondering how well his wounds healed. He had a rather nasty cut right here.” She touched her cheek and then looked curiously at Regulus’ face. The scar from the cut is almost invisible to anyone who doesn’t know it is there.

Regulus turns his face away. “Yes, he has never had the chance to be as wild as my brother Sirius in his youth. I guess he wanted to catch up. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to speak with Sirius.”

He turns away and aimlessly walks a few steps, scanning the room for his brother. Sirius seems to have vanished. Fantastic.

***

Barty is not a fan of James Potter. Tonight didn’t necessarily help. He does sincerely believe that James is in love with Regulus – or falling in love with him at the moment. And then this absolute Ratbag of a person invited Lily and now acts like he cannot see why Regulus is upset.

Of course, Regulus is overreacting to Lily’s presence. James wants him more than her. Barty could swear everything he owned on it.

He watches Regulus and Lily having a tense conversation. He remembers Lily as an intelligent woman. This isn’t an exact demonstration of her capabilities. Regulus finally gets away from her and shortly thereafter is trapped in another conversation with the Agent’s son.

On the other side of the room, Barty’s mother is talking to his father, who wears his ever-present frown of dissatisfaction and disappointment. Barty goes to grab another glass of wine, almost running into James in the process.

Lady Rowena is all over him at the moment, complimenting his hair and gossiping about Regulus’ dress, how it fits better with his family of savage Frenchmen than their upstanding English family.

Barty takes his glass and joins them.

“Hey, Rowena. What fabric is that you are wearing?”

She frowns at him. “Why? As if you knew anything about dresses and fabrics.”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking. You see, I was just wondering what this champagne does to that fabric. Shall we conduct an experiment, or will you run along?”

Rowena steps back from him and looks at James expectantly.

James, obviously tired of her, shrugs. “He is very clumsy.”

“You’re unbelievable,” the woman mutters and struts away.

“Thank you for the rescue.”

Barty smirks. “Rescue? Sure, let’s call it that.”

“Did you need something?”

“Oh, Jamsie,” he sighs and puts an arm around his shoulder, slowly pulling him around until Regulus is in their line of sight. “Regulus looks magnificent today, doesn’t he?”

“I try to refrain from complimenting him excessively when he is dressed up as the Viscountess.”

“How noble. He is always magnificent, of course. Our beautiful, handsome little Reggie.”

“He is not our Reggie, Crouch. And you are not to call him ‘Reggie’ at all.”

Barty rolls his eyes. “Whatever. My point is, whoever gets to love him and is loved by him will truly be the luckiest man on earth, don’t you agree?”

James presses his lips together.

“He needs to be loved by the right man, of course. It can’t just be anyone. He needs the right kind of love from the right kind of man.”

“And you fancy that is you, am I correct?”

Barty snorts. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I’m scarcely the right man for anyone, especially not him. I’m not romantic enough. Also, it has recently been brought to my attention that I love another, so…” He bites the inside of his cheek. He takes a large sip from his wine and puts it on a tablet of a passing footman.

“Well, who is the right man, then?”

“I don’t know. Personally, I doubt it is that one, though.” He discreetly gestures towards Regulus and the agent’s son, who has successfully persuaded him to dance. “He needs a man who loves him to the core and respects him as a man. Everywhere, all the time. Especially in bed.”

James chokes on his own spit and ends up in a short coughing fit.

“God, you’re such a prude. How did you marry into a French family?”

“Fuck off,” James mutters and clears his throat. He waves a footman over and grabs a drink.

“Survived it?”

James takes a deep breath. He turns away from Regulus and looks at him. “Barty, I know we are not friends, but… can you be honest with me? Just once. Be gleeful and mean if you have to, but honest.”

Barty frowns at him and shrugs.

“When you and Reg were in London… did you… did something happen? Did you kiss? Did you… more than kiss?”

The slight tremor in James’ voice tells him he has been nothing short of correct in his assessment.

“Let me ask you a question. Do you trust Regulus?”

“Of course I do, but I also know he would lie to my face to not upset me.”

Barty hums. “Nothing happened. No kissing, no bed-sharing. We didn’t even dance with each other. And nothing will happen because I truly value his friendship, no matter whether you believe that or not, and I’m not the right man for him. Though I could probably always see him as a man, I cannot love him right. He must be number one for his lover. My heart is still broken by someone else.”

James looks at him curiously. Of course, he doesn’t believe Barty’s heart could be broken by anyone. Or that he had a heart to begin with.

“Look at him. Look how gorgeous he is. Look how he is bending forwards and backwards to make your family happy and look good to the outside world. …It would be a shame if, after all this work, he ended up in the wrong hands, wouldn’t it?”

James looks back towards Regulus, watching him dance gracefully but with an impassive face.

“And tell him you wouldn’t want to marry Lily anymore even if Regulus faked his death right now and left. But don’t lie about it. Mean it.”

“How would you know what I mean?”

Barty laughs humourlessly. “You have always been so blessed, James. You never had to learn how to read people to not set them off at home. You never had to learn to lie to your parents’ faces to escape punishment because your worst punishment and mine or Regulus’s were miles apart. That is why you are bad at poker, and it is why you are so easily readable. You don’t love Lily anymore.”

James bites his lip and shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”

***

Proper balls, as they are held during the London season, are planned by entire committees. Regulus has done a splendid job on his own, although they have far fewer guests, of course.

It is past eleven, and the ballroom is kept alight by freshly polished chandeliers and white candles.

Remus has been keeping an eye on a few of the guests he decided to be most likely to cause trouble. Lord Abbot, while mindlessly drunk, has been relatively tame today. The poor Lady Emmeline was seated between him and Monsieur Lestrange during dinner, who flirted with her in tandem despite the woman’s obvious distaste for both of them. Now, Lord Abbot isn’t even capable of dancing with her anymore, as he is currently sitting half-passed out on a sofa. His mother is sitting with him, cleaning the drool off his face. Remus suspects that they will be the first ones to go. At least, he hopes they will go before Lord Abbot decides to spread the dinner on the floor.

Oscar Wilde has been behaving quite well. He was busier talking than eating during dinner, but he hasn’t started a scandal so far. Remus, an avid reader, was initially excited about seeing and meeting Mr Wilde – until Regulus was so kind to remind him of Wilde’s past with Sirius. Or their present, Remus isn’t entirely sure. The reminder pushed him back to the night in London when Sirius returned from Wilde’s party to tell him he loved him.

Sirius has been ignoring him. Worse, he has treated him like any other footman: a nobleman and a servant of another house. Remus tries to console himself with the fact that Sirius is here to support his brother, who must be having a hard time at the moment.

Regulus and James are a mess. They had been dancing and sitting with the wrong person all night, which caused the other one to glare and mop about. Remus knew Regulus would react like this upon finding out about Lily’s invitation. He did not anticipate him finding out on the day of, worse, the moment of her arrival.

Then there is Snape. He barely dares to look at Regulus or Barty. If nothing else, the beating and mutilation they gave him scared him out of his wits. Remus doesn’t approve of Barty Crouch’s methods but won’t argue against success.

Snape has been focused on Lily, of course. She was sitting at another table between her father and Lord Xenophilius, but that didn’t stop Snape from almost snapping his neck every once in a while to see her. Lord Xenophilius has been dancing with Lily a few times throughout the evening. Remus hasn’t seen him in a while, actually. He must have sneaked out in the past few minutes.

The footmen are walking among the guests, offering champagne and wine. A small buffet, constituting a supper, is placed on tables along the side of the room. Remus stands between the buffet and a servant's door, overseeing logistics.  

Lily looks beautiful tonight. She is a gorgeous woman, and although she has fewer resources than the Ladies, she is effortlessly outdoing some of them.

She finally gets a break from dancing and socialising and comes over to the buffet.

“Remus, how good to see you,” she says with a pleasant smile.

“Miss Lily. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” She smiles and smooths out the fabric of her dress. “How are you doing?”

“Fine, thank you. How are things in London?”

“Wonderful. Stressful. Different than I thought. …Wonderful, though.”

“Have you been painting much?”

“I’m working on a series of pictures of the family I live with. I have made a lot of portraits of my friend, Mary. She is so beautiful I could draw nothing else than her for the rest of time.” Lily bites her tongue and blushes.

Remus smiles at her. “The big city isn’t for everyone, and most people aren’t nice. I’m happy for you.”

Lily hums and looks around the room. “I guess, the Viscountess would have preferred me to stay in London. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“You surely didn’t, my dear. James invited you. If his spouse takes issue with this, then it was him who caused trouble. I saw you talk. What do you make of her?”

Lily looks thoughtfully at the ceiling. “She seems rather grim. She isn’t exactly happy for someone who celebrates a birthday. …She is beautiful, though. Far more beautiful than I would have imagined. I imagined her a beauty based on her brothers, but she outdid them.”

Remus calls on himself not to smirk. Regulus looks almost exactly like his ‘twin sister,’ at least in the face. They only differ in the expression, the hair and the perceived shape of the body.

“It is funny how similar she and Lord Regulus look.” She giggles. “I quite like him. Maybe, now that James married her, Lord Regulus would be a good husband for me.”

Remus laughs for an entirely different reason than Lily. He tries to cover his amusement with a cough.

“I don’t think he’d make a good husband for you, unfortunately. He has his heart set out on someone else, I’m afraid.” Men, in general. James, in particular.

“Maybe I am better off without a husband,” she says and shrugs.

As far as Remus is aware, she never wanted one of those anyway.

“I mean, I might have to marry a man someday. It cannot be helped. Maybe I will find a man who is perfectly disinterested in me so I can continue my art, friendships, and politics without interference. My sister is against it, of course. She says a young woman cannot have opinions. Her father tells her what her opinions are until she is married, and then her husband tells her what they are. She seems perfectly happy with it, but I think it sounds horrible.”

“It does, it does.” Remus nods sagely.

The Duchess of Ravenclaw appears behind them. Remus straightens his back and poses as the perfect butler.

“Miss Lily,” she says, “Have you seen my son, by chance? I am getting tired, but I cannot find him.”

“My apologies, but I haven’t seen him in a while, your Grace.”

The Duchess looks at Remus expectantly. “I have not seen him leave, but I will set out immediately to find him, your Grace.”

“Thank you. Tell him to hurry.”

Remus offers Lily a last smile and disappears.

He searches the drawing and sitting room they opened for the guests, but they are void of any Duchess’ sons. Instead, he catches a glimpse of Lady Lestrange in the drawing room. She is pressed against a sofa with a man on top of her, kissing her and pushing his hand up her skirts. Remus is relatively sure the man isn’t her husband, but the Baroness thoroughly enjoys herself in his arms.

Remus quickly turns away from the couple and the room and keeps searching until he finds himself downstairs.

“I have never met a woman who knows so much herbs and nature,” a man says in the servant’s hall. “You are so intelligent and surprising; it is extraordinarily refreshing.”

“I thought your family had many intelligent people in it,” Pandora answers.

Remus peeks into the servants' hall. Lord Xenophilius sits at a table with Pandora, who is mixing one of the tinctures and oils she uses on Regulus’ hair and skin. This is atrocious.

“Of course. They talk about math and biology, but they never go further than the plausible. They talk about automobiles soon dominating the streets and machines to carry us through the sky. They are all so modern, but they forget to look at the world as a miracle in its own right instead of a problem to be solved.”

“The world can never be a problem. She carries her mysteries, and if we are kind to her, she will share them with us willingly.”

“Yes! Yes, you are right. That is what I am trying to teach them. We mustn’t forget where we came from. They are all about new inventions and medicine and telephones. In all their intelligence, they could never figure out what you are doing.”

“I like new inventions,” Pandora admits. Remus considers interrupting them before she can offend the Lord. “I think it is fascinating to see what all the things around us can become, what they can be turned into. But they must be treated with respect and care.”

“That is a nice way to look at it. The only reasonable way, I will claim. Only if we learn to understand the world as it is, we can relearn its magic.”

“You believe in magic, my Lord?” Pandora asks excitedly.

“Believe? I have seen it with my own eyes! I travelled the continent, the east specifically, and I’ve seen the magic they practice. Many old cultures, who haven’t unlearned to listen to the winds and the earth, possess magic. We just became blind and deaf to it. Now, intelligent men who know nothing of the world will call what you are doing witchcraft.”

Remus clears his throat. Pandora quickly stands up when Remus steps in.

“My Lord, your mother is looking for you. I think she wishes to return home.”

The man sighs and stands up. “I apologise, Miss Pandora. It seems I must leave you know. Physically, at least.”

He takes her hand and bows to her. Remus bites his tongue.

“Don’t forget your shirt.”

“Shirt?” Remus can’t help himself but ask. What have they done down here?

“An accident,” Lord Xenophilius explains and picks up his damp shirt from a chair beside him. “Mr Snape spilled wine on it. I came down here seeking help. Miss Pandora was so kind to give me a shirt from Lord James. I hope he does not take offence.”

“Surely not, my Lord. You should keep it so you don’t freeze on the way.”

“Thank you.” He puts his dinner jacket back on and looks at Pandora again. “Can I… can I write to you?”

Pandora blinks at him, surprised. Her white cheeks flush red. “I would be delighted if you did, my Lord.”

He smiles brightly, reaches for her hand again, and then finally leaves them to go upstairs.

Remus looks at Pandora with raised eyebrows.

“What?” she asks innocently. “I did not do anything inappropriate. He needed help.”

Remus points at his face where Pandora is blushing.

“Oh, do not judge me, Mr Lupin. I know of your meetings with Lord Black. Oh, which reminds me. He came downstairs a while ago, asked whether you were in your room and then took off in its direction. I thought it odd because he should have known you never left the ballroom.”

 “Lord Black went upstairs to my room?”

“Yes, as far as I know.”

Remus nods, confused and quickly makes his way upstairs. What could Sirius possibly want in his room? Maybe he is waiting for him. Maybe he finally wishes to talk. Maybe he had enough to drink to talk to him and now hid in his room to wait.

Remus hastily climbs the narrow stairs leading to the servants’ quarters.

He pushes open the door to his bedroom, hoping to find Sirius waiting for him, sitting on the bed, looking up with those star-filled grey eyes.

Sirius is on the bed, yes. He looks up at him, his eyes perfectly grey, although Remus is too far away to see them properly. His clothes are scattered on the floor. He is not sitting but kneeling.

Sirius is on all fours on Remus’ bed, his naked body on beautiful display – but not for Remus. Behind him, Lord Ferdinand Tremblay, Lady Euphemia’s cousin, has his dress shirt shoved up and trousers pushed down just far enough to take his cock out and thrust into Sirius. The man's large hands have his hips in a possessive grip, pulling their bodies together in a quick rhythm. Sweat is pouring down his neck and seeping into his shirt. He doesn’t seem to care. On the other side of this display, kneeling in front of Sirius’ mouth and holding his long hair in his fist, is none other than Oscar Wilde.

Remus stops dead in his tracks. His mind blanks at the sight. He can feel his heart pulling itself together in his chest. The creaking of the cheap bed sounds like mocking laughter to him.

Sirius looked up when Remus opened the door but did so far not even bother to stop sucking Wilde’s cock. If anything, he makes more of a show of it.

Tremblay looks up as well. He stops momentarily, staring with slight shock at the intruder. He is a nobleman, sodomising another in a room with Oscar Wilde. This could quickly become the scandal of the year. Then, Tremblay evidently recognises Remus as such. His past is a more or less open secret among the family. Tremblay knows Remus won’t run to the press with this.

“Oh, don’t look at us like that, Scarface,” Tremblay laughs sharply and thrusts deeply into Sirius, getting a deep moan out of the man. Remus’ stomach turns. “It’s your bed, isn’t it? Hey, everything you possess actually belongs to James. So, it also belongs to my family and me. I can fuck on whatever I want in here. It’s more mine than yours.”

Sirius, holding Wilde’s cock in his hand instead of his mouth now, laughs with Tremblay.

“Now, get out. We are in the middle of something here.” Tremblay says and keeps pushing his hips against Sirius’ bottom, thrusting his cock into him and making him moan with pleasure. Sirius doesn’t say a word to him. He smirks and then returns his attention to Wilde.

Remus cannot feel his body anymore. He is somewhere outside of it where he is forced to look at this like a theatre performance. Minutes felt like hours until he accomplished stepping back and closing the door. He slides down on the wall.

He can still hear the mocking of the creaking bed and muffled moans.

He thought Sirius would come here to hear him out? To talk to him? How could he be so stupid?

He asked Sirius to only sleep with him. So now, heartbroken, he sleeps with other men in front of Remus. He wanted him to see this, didn’t he? He wanted to show him how little he cares and how he does not love him anymore.

Time goes by slowly. Every noise from the room is choking him.

Remus doesn’t know how much time has passed when the noises finally stop. He tastes vomit in his mouth.

The door opens, and Tremblay walks out, whistling and grinning down at him. “Good night, Scarface.”

Remus pulls himself up on the wall. He peeks into the room. Sirius has his trousers on and dress shirt in his hand. Wilde is pressing their lips together while having his hand in Sirius’ hair, massaging his scalp.

Remus watches them helplessly until Wilde finally pulls away and leaves the room, probably to find his wife.

Remus pushes himself into the room and closes the door. He and Sirius are alone.

Sirius looks up with a positively disinterested look on his face. He sighs while buttoning his shirt. “I could really use a valet sometimes.”

“Was this really necessary?” Remus whispers.

Sirius shrugs. “I don’t know what you mean. I was in the mood, and so were the others.”

“And my bed was the closest?”

He shrugs again. “Maybe. Maybe I just enjoyed that look on your face. So what?”

“Arsehole.”

Sirius laughs at him. “What, are you jealous? You don’t have the right to be jealous, Lupin. You got what you wanted, no?”

“You think I wanted this?” Remus’ voice breaks in the middle. The image of the three in his bed is burned into his brain.

“I don’t know what you think—or thought. I thought I did, but I was wrong. Now, I just don’t care.”

“What do you mean, you don’t care? Sirius, you told me you loved me, and then you just vanished! I wanted to talk to you, but-“

“Stop!” Sirius exclaims. “You don’t get to turn this around. I just vanished? You sent me away!”

“Not to Algeria! What was I supposed to do with what you told me, Sirius? You don’t know what you were talking about! Love is-“

“Not real,” Sirius says with finality. “Is that what you were about to say? Impossible. Illegal. Fiction. What is it, Remus? Educate me on the matter! Come on!”

Remus wants to take a step back when Sirius starts yelling at him again, but he finds himself glued to the floor. Yes. All those things. At least for Remus.

“You want to be angry with me for fucking someone else? You don’t have the right! You rejected me! You didn’t want me!”

“I want you-“

“No! If you did, you wouldn’t have let me leave your room that night! You wouldn’t have said what you said. You didn’t want me! You don’t want me! You don’t get to be upset that others do. I fuck them all if I wish. I fuck them in your bed if it pleases me. Don’t act like you suddenly care for me to feel justified in your own actions. I get sick when I fucking look at you.” Sirius’ voice is pure acid. Remus’ eyes start burning.

Sirius slowly walks up to him. “Maybe that is why I fucked them here for you to see. Will you get sick now when you think of it? I hope you think of this when you think of us. I hope this infiltrates your mind and your heart and everything in you until it governs your life. When the thought of me touching you makes you cry and spit and vomit, then – then – you earned the right to be upset with me again.”

Remus loses the fight against his emotions. Tears slip out of his eyes. He is face-to-face with Sirius now. His eyes are cold and angry, resembling blocks of stone and ice more than stars. Remus turns away. Sirius steps aside and finishes getting dressed.

“I’m sorry,” Remus whispers. “Seren, I’m sorry.”

Sirius laughs, harsh and dry. “Transgressions are not mended by sorry. They are only mended by punishment. Your transgression? You showed me the truth about myself, love, and life. I cannot forgive that.”

Remus sobs breathlessly.

“Look at you. Pathetic. Maybe I should thank you. I am better off not loving you. I can do better than a poor, disfigured sodomite.” Every word cuts into Remus’s skin like a knife. Sirius opens the door. “So long, Scarface.”

Sirius closes the door behind him. Remus falls to his knees. His body is shaking.

Sirius used to kiss his scars. He used to call him handsome. He used to trace the scars with his fingers, drawing little shapes around them. He was the only person acknowledging and yet liking them.

Now he says ‘Scarface’ like every other unpleasant man and calls him ‘disfigured’.

He said many things. But these hurt so much more than the rest. The rest is punishment. The rest is Sirius being in pain because of him. The rest is justified.

These are different. These make him believe he truly ruined everything they had.

***

Around eleven, people started slowly moving to the drawing room, leaving only a few couples for the dance, some coming and going from time to time.

The guests started leaving, and the evening finally came to a close. Regulus’ cousins went upstairs, as they are to stay at the manor for a few days. James hasn’t seen Sirius in a while, so he must be in bed as well. He released the musicians and the footmen.

James isn’t sure what time it is exactly. He wanders through the sitting rooms and the library, ensuring that no one got left behind and that Regulus’ cousins and their awful families aren’t rummaging through James’ possessions like common thieves.

A fire is still burning in the last sitting room. Regulus is sitting in front of it. James thought he went to bed a long time ago, but he sits on the floor, staring into the flames.

“Reggie?” James asks gently.

Regulus looks up. “James. What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Late. Early, more likely. Everyone else has gone to bed.” He slowly sits down next to him. “Are you still angry with me?”

Regulus sighs. “I don’t know. You cannot ask me such things in the middle of the night. No one can think clearly about other people at this hour.”

“I can’t go to sleep if you are still angry with me. I know today was hard for you, and I surely didn’t make it easier.”

“No, you didn’t,” he mumbles.

“Although I promised to. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invited her without asking you. I didn’t think you would have an issue with her. I simply missed her as a friend, and I wanted to know how her life was going in London. I didn’t mean anything sinister by it, darling.”

Regulus closes his eyes and bites his lip.

“I know,” he says quietly. “You were right. I was being unreasonable. I told you that you are free to court her and fall in love with-“

“I don’t wish to court her. I have courted her enough in my life. I’m not interested in her that way anymore.”

Regulus slowly looks at him. “You are not?”

“No. I did not invite her for anything like it. I won’t set you or me up for scandal. Also, we are married. I know it’s not a marriage in the traditional way, and it doesn’t mean much, but nevertheless, I made a vow. I will not court or love another person as long as we are married.”

Regulus is rubbing his hands in his lap. “I told you, I don’t want you to put your whole life on hold just because of me-“

“But I want to. Besides, I would not call this ‘on hold’ at all. When you are not angry with me, we are having a wonderful time together, aren’t we?”

He smiles with one corner of his mouth. “Yes.”

“Are you still angry with me now?”

“No. You can go to sleep in peace.”

James smiles. “And you? Aren’t you tired?”

“Exhausted. I’m constantly overheating in this dress. My feet are blistered and hurt from dancing and standing in heels all night. The corset is squishing me together, and I’m wearing too many layers of tights and skirts for late April. And despite this, the top is still so low cut that your cousin called me a whore, and my cousin’s husband- you know what? Maybe you shouldn’t know about that until after that man left your house.”

James stares at him. “Which of them did and said what? I will throw them out immediately.”

“There is no need.” Regulus smiles and starts taking off his shoes. “I cannot walk upstairs in these anymore.”

“This is a lot,” James comments and picks at the sleeve of his dress. “Skirts, corsets, perverted men, and high heels. Of course, you would rather be a man.”

Regulus frowns deeply at him. “You misunderstand me, James. It is not that I want to be a man. It is simply that I am. I want to be a woman. I would love to have my feelings be what my body looks like. I could deal with the discomfort of dresses and high shoes if it were only them causing me discomfort. What makes me uncomfortable and sick to my stomach is how my body feels in them. How much I am aware of it. If I were a woman, my life would be easier. I would be easier to love. It would be easier to live. But I’m not. No one sees it, but I’m not.”

James curses himself. He knows this, of course. He didn’t mean for it to sound like he doesn’t understand him. “I see it. I only see you when I look at you. And you are gorgeous.”

He hesitantly scoots closer to Regulus. His frown softens. James carefully reaches up to his hair and starts pulling out the pins and combs. He takes the tiara and places it behind them. Regulus’s curls fall around his face, framing his beauty like a piece of art. James keeps his hand there. He wraps a curl around his finger and brushes along Regulus’ face until he finds himself cupping his cheek.

Regulus hasn’t said a word since James touched his hair. He can hear his breath go steadily and slowly. The fire paints a golden glow on his cheek. James’ eyes drop to his lips. They are stained by red wine and look like Regulus has been biting at them for hours.

He watches Regulus slowly pull his bottom lip to bite or lick it. His lips are left shiny and wet and kissable. So kissable.

James wonders whether they feel soft. He wonders whether he can taste the expensive wines on them or just the taste of Regulus. James feels a gloved hand come up to touch his cheek, too. The distance between them decreases with every breath Regulus takes. He is so beautiful. So beautiful… dressed up as the Viscountess.

What is he doing?
Is he about to kiss him?
He wants to kiss him.
His entire body cries out to kiss this man, and he doesn’t know for how long, but he has been craving this kiss for a while. But not like this. Not with Regulus uncomfortable and dressed like this.

“I,” James breathes and suddenly pulls back. “I should go to bed.”

Regulus bites his lip and draws back as well, quickly gathering his hands in his lap and grabbing the fabrics of the dress like he wants to choke them. “Yes, of course. You should. So should I.”

James slowly gets up. Every fibre of his being tells him not to go. He should stay here, take Regulus, peel the dress off him and kiss him. Just once. Just a little taste. James shakes his head to himself, quickly gets up, and goes to the door. “Good night.”

***

Chapter Text

“Oh, friend! my heart doth yearn for thee.” Teleny 20

Regulus eats breakfast in his bedroom when they have guests. It is customary for married women to do so. Thus, no one bats an eye at his absence at the breakfast table. Personally, he does it so he wouldn’t have to be the “married woman” in question. Further, eating in bed is a perfect way to start a stressful day.

Regulus didn’t sleep last night. He kept rolling around in bed, quietly cursing James Potter.

He doesn’t understand the man. Regulus hates things he doesn’t understand.

Pandora places the tray of food in front of Regulus.

“Crêpes? That is a bit on the nose, no?”

“The Lady’s Maids of Lady Bellatrix and Lady Slytherin insisted that only French food can be served during the visit. We've been told that the Lady Slytherin has a very delicate stomach.”

“Am I correct to assume that Crêpes are the only French food Poppy could think of that could possibly constitute a breakfast?”

“She had the kitchen maids bake croissants all night, too.”

Regulus looks at his tray rather disappointed. “Why am I not getting any?”

“Lord Sirius crossed my path as I brought your breakfast. Shall I run down to the kitchen and get some more?”

Regulus sighs. “No. It is fine. I will do with these.”

“Are the crêpes not to your liking, my Lord? I can tell Poppy.”

“They are… too thick. They are more German than French. If I said that to a French chef, it would be a graver insult than to say their food tastes like rubbish.”

“German is worse than rubbish?” Pandora asks with a smile.

“White bonnet, bonnet white,” Regulus shrugs.

Pandora looks at him confused but accepts it with a smile. “Did you have a pleasant birthday despite everything?” She asks and starts picking up his discarded clothes from last night. He helped himself out of them before going to bed.

Regulus thinks back to the sitting room. He sat before the fire, cursing the world and losing his head over why James invited Lily. Then James came in. He said sweet things again. He said he didn’t want to court Lily. He called him darling, and then –

Then, nothing happened.

“Pandora,” Regulus says slowly. “I need your opinion on something.”

“I will try to be helpful, my Lord.” She digs through his wardrobe to pick his dress for the day.

“As a friend. We are friends, right?”

“I would be delighted to be called a friend by you.”

“Good. As my friend, come here and tell me whether I am losing my mind.”

Pandora abandons her task and returns to Regulus. She pulls a chair up to the bed and looks at him expectantly.

“Okay… I will tell you a fictional scenario. A hypothetical. And you will tell me what it may mean. Okay?”

Pandora looks at him confused but nods.

“Okay, let’s say it is late at night. Person A had a lot of wine and not enough food. Person A and Person B are alone in a room by a fire.”

“How romantic.”

“No,” Regulus says quickly, looking at her intently. “No. Not romantic. Just listen. So, Person A and Person B talk, and B says things like, ‘I can’t sleep when you are angry with me’ and ‘I will not love another person as long as we are married’ and calls A things like ‘darling’ in that very warm and deep tone that melts your insides.”

Pandora looks at him with widened eyes. “Lord James said what?”

“Who mentioned James? I did not mention James. We are just telling a fairytale. A hypothetical.”

“Oh, Lord James said he won’t love anyone besides you and called you darling. That is so romantic! He is so in love with you.”

“No,” Regulus insists again. “James did not do anything. Also, if he had said something like it – which he didn’t -he would not have meant that he would not love anyone but me, just that he would not start an affair during our marriage.”

“It was Lord James, and we both know what he meant. You asked me for advice.”

“That was not the advice part yet.”

“Oh Lord! There is more? What happened?”

“Nothing happened. It is a hypothetical—a thought experiment. …anyway, at some point, B’s hand was on A’s cheek and… A thought B was leaning in…”

Pandora gasps. “Did you kiss? Finally?”

Regulus bites his lip. “No. That is the thing. It does sound like he wanted to kiss, right? Person B, I mean, if he existed.”

“Tell me exactly what happened.” She clearly does not even want to pretend to buy Regulus’ little game.

He sighs deeply. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. He had his hand on my cheek; I had mine on his. He scooted closer. He leaned in… and then he suddenly pulled back and went to bed, stuttering around. And now… I don’t know. I was a bit drunk. Maybe I imagined he leaned in and got closer. What if it was the final part of my delusion? I also thought he might start feel for me before he invited Lily.”

“But he said he doesn’t love Lily and won’t love anyone besides you. We established that.”

“No, you established it. It is not what he said.”

“But if he says that he won’t fall in love with another person as long as you are married, that only leaves you to fall in love with.”

“Or no one.”

“But he falls in love with you. Or fell already. He wanted to kiss you.”

“But he didn’t. … Why didn’t he, Pandora?”

Pandora looks at him with a hint of pity, and Regulus would have hit her for it if she wasn’t Pandora.

“Maybe he got scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of doing the wrong thing? Give him time. He will do something about it if he really wants to kiss you. It’s Lord James we are talking about. The man doesn’t go down without a fight for the things he wants.”

Regulus chews on his bottom lip. “And if he doesn’t want me?”

“Then he is a fool.” She offers a smile. “Now, eat. You will need your strength if your cousins are anything like their maids. Maybe you should stop thinking about this altogether for as long as your family is here. You can’t really be ‘Lord Regulus’ as long as they are here, so how should Lord James understand that he loves Lord Regulus?”

Regulus hums unconvinced and picks up a crêpe.

***

Remus has a lot to do in the morning. A circumstance James clearly ignores. He asked Peter to fetch Remus for him, and now the three men are standing awkwardly in James’s small dressing room.

“I think I’m in love with Regulus,” James blurts out.

Peter stops mid-button and looks up at him, surprised.

“Pardon?”

“I... I think I fell in love with Regulus,” James repeats quietly.

Peter blurts out a laugh. He slaps his hands in front of his mouth, but his face is wrinkled up into an all-consuming grin.

“What?” James asks, confused. He looks up at Remus, who looks back at him with a blank face.

“Oh, Hallelujah. I am rich! Rich!”

“Technically, it’s the day after,” Remus says without much conviction.

“Technically, you can go fuck yourself. You owe me.”

James looks bewildered from one friend to the other. “What is going on?”

Remus makes a throwaway gesture. “There was a bet.”

“A bet? On what? Did you bet whether I would fall in love with him?”

“What? No.” Peter shakes his head. “We bet when you’d notice that you fell in love with him.”

“What? How would you even know? Not even I know whether I am actually in love with him.”

“My Lord, please don’t say such things. Do you have any idea how much money I have on the line?”

“You do realise that any other employer would fire you for this, right? You are lucky we are friends.”

“Any other employer would have noticed he was in love with his spouse. Very glad we are friends, Sir, very glad.”

“How did you find out?” Remus asks. Somehow, James expected Remus to have more of a reaction. Not entirely in the same fashion as Peter, but any reaction at all. If nothing else, he expected him to hold a speech about the non-existence of love and good things. He simply stands in the crowded dressing room, staring straight ahead like his mind is somewhere wholly else.

“We almost kissed.”

“You kissed?” Peter exclaims. “We didn’t even have time to bet on it yet.”

“Almost kissed. I... I pulled away.”

Peter looks back at Remus. He rarely receives this much judgment from anyone besides the Black family.

“So,” Remus says slowly, “Lord Regulus tried to kiss you, and you pulled away? I need to keep Pandora away from your food. Mr. Crouch will be the one hitting you this time.”

“That is not how it happened. We both leaned in. I think I started leaning in, actually.”

“Then why did you pull back?” Peter asks, and James has the distinct feeling that he intended to add an insult to his question.

“I don’t know,” James sighs and closes his buttons himself. “It felt wrong in the moment. He was wearing that dress and was done up as the Viscountess. I can’t kiss him when he doesn’t even look like himself... more than that, how can I even be sure that it is him I find attractive? It wouldn’t be fair if my attraction to him were rooted in the thing he hates about himself.”

Remus sighs long and deep like he could think of a billion more sensible things to discuss. He sits down on a chair. This isn’t like him. “Okay. Let’s do this the slow way. If you love anyone, you love Lord Regulus because you have spent significantly more time with him than the Viscountess. Also, the Viscountess is rarely in a lovable mood.”

James finds biting remarks and insults rather appealing, but he is not in any mood to admit to this. Besides, Regulus can be mean regardless of the clothes he is wearing. James has thought of Regulus and the Viscountess many times. The Viscountess isn’t real. Regulus is. Regulus is a person that can be loved. The Viscountess is a mask that can only be married. “But I thought I only loved women. If I love him, what does that say about me and how I see him?”

“Okay, I see your point. Then tell me, what do you find attractive about him? What made you fall in love – if that is the case.” He directs the last bit at Peter, who is preoccupied with counting money in his head.

James recalls Regulus to his inner eye and all the instances he found him breathtaking to look at. He thinks about him at Lion’s Keep, sharing a bed and waking up to him in the early morning.

“I like his hair and how soft it is, how the curls feel between my fingers. He has those really faint freckles that are getting darker now because we spend more time in the sun. They are adorable, especially when he smiles. Oh, I love his smile. Especially that small one, when he clearly tries to fight it but can’t and ends up smiling with one corner of his mouth, and then he rolls his eyes and calls me stupid! It makes me all warm and fuzzy to see it. His eyes, of course, too. They are the loveliest eyes I have ever seen. They are like precious silver stars, especially in sunlight. I could spend days just looking at them.”

Peter giggles. “Oh, Remus, you owe me so much money.”

Remus makes another throwaway gesture towards him. “That’s it? Hair, eyes, freckles, smiles, and insults?”

James shrugs. “I love how mischievous he gets when he wins at cards, and confidence looks great on him. I like hearing him talk about things he is passionate about. I admire his loyalty and how he is willing to sacrifice a little to ensure my family isn’t talked down in the press. I genuinely admire how much he cares about that. I wish he wouldn’t drive himself mad about it, but it feels good to know how important I am to him, how important my family is to him.”

“Nothing else about his body?”

James bites his lip in thought. He thinks about the day he returned from London with an injured face and stories to tell. He looked beautiful talking about card games and dances. He thinks about how he leaned their foreheads together.

“His lips,” James mumbles. “His hands. He has really nice hands. …He has a nice neck, too. Is that weird? It sounds strange to say, but I think his neck is pretty. Would it be mad if I said I wanted to bite him?”

“Bite?” Peter asks. “Why?”

“Not with force. Just a little nibble. I want to kiss him there and give him one of those scandalous little bruises that tell Barty to back off.”

Remus frowns at him with a lot of judgement. James decides he should not say any of this in front of Sirius.

“Despite the weird fixation on biting Lord Regulus’ neck, it sounds like his body is more or less insignificant to your attraction to him, right?”

James looks at him, confused. “No, I love his body. His face, his hair, his hands, they are beautiful, and I need to restrain myself from constantly touching him. I’m quite unsuccessful with that, to be honest.”

“Yes, sure, but is it significant in any way whether his hands, neck, and face are attached to the private parts of a man or woman?”

James looks at him, scandalised. “I would never think of Regulus’ private regions. How dare you even propose such an insolence?”

Remus looks at him with raised eyebrows. “So, you want to kiss him, bite and nibble on him, but not lie with him?”

“Well,” James stops. He has been awake all night imagining being alone with Regulus and doing all kinds of things with him. He wants to touch him. He wants to feel his skin under his fingers. He wants to be granted permission to touch him, and he wants Regulus to want to be touched by him. He wants to explore his skin with his lips and whisper to him how beautiful he is. “I do want to… be with him that way. Every way. Still, I’m a romantic, and he is very conscious of his body. I can’t disrespect him by imagining him fully naked.”

“Aw, you are so proper it makes me sick.” Remus rolls his eyes.

“You do know that Lord Regulus is not a mind reader, right? He wouldn’t know what you imagine. It is in your head,” Peter points out.

“First of all, I would not put being a mind-reader past him.”

“He spent the entire last day being jealous of Lily Evans. Trust me, he is not a mind reader,” Remus says and shakes his head. “Be that as it may, whether you have only loved women before or not, I think you are the last person in this house to see Regulus as one, and I don’t think your attraction is connected to his gender. Unless you like his hands for their feminine qualities.”

“Feminine qualities? They are hands. I like them because they are soft and flawless, and it feels good when he touches me.”

“Right,” Peter says, “let’s try it this way, just to be sure: What did you like about Miss Evans? Why did you fall in love with her? She is the only woman you fell in love with, isn’t she?”

“She is,” James agrees. “She is exceptionally pretty, of course. She is the prettiest girl in the entire Pot. I liked her hair, and her green eyes were mesmerising. She was interesting and intriguing, so fresh and new with her politics and unwillingness to agree with me purely based on my position. Instead, she insulted me and rolled her eyes at me. It was cute. Also, her talent in painting was enticing.”

Remus and Peter exchange a look. James is starting to feel left out.

“You shouldn’t worry,” Peter says and slaps his shoulder. “Lord Regulus’ gender is definitely not why you find him attractive and want to kiss him. None of the genders. Maybe you should tell him that.”

“Tell him?”

“He may get the wrong impression otherwise.” Peter shrugs. “I mean, you almost kissed him, pulled away, and left. Isn’t he one of those people who overthink everything?”

He is. He is an overthinker, one of the worst ones James knows.

“Oh no,” he mumbles to himself. “But I can’t just tell him that I think I may be, theoretically, possibly, one hundred percent, definitely in love with him. That is not something you confess over tea and scones.”

“Didn’t you confess to Lily over tea and scones?” Remus asks.

“Exactly. That was more than ten years ago. I do hope my courting techniques improved since then.”

“We all hope so,” Remus nods sagely. “You do not need to court him, though. You are already married to him, remember?”

James shakes his head. He can do better than that. Their wedding and marriage had nothing to do with love – not even with benevolence for each other. Sirius said Regulus likes romance and softness. James has to court him correctly. Besides, he is in no mood to confess his feelings to someone and be rejected again. He must make Regulus fall in love with him, too.

“I need to court him,” James insists. “Properly. He deserves it. …But I don’t know how I should behave now. What do I say to him? How do I act? How do I even start courting him?”

Peter hands him a jacket. “Well, you can always ask his brother how to court him.”

Remus stands up in a sudden burst of movement, like he was reminded of something. “You should stay calm. You still have guests, if you remember. You need to calm down and sort out your feelings while everyone in this house is distracted by Lord Regulus’s family.” He turns and mumbles more to himself than James, “That is what we all should do.”

***

Breakfast with Sirius, Barty, Baron Lestrange, his brother (James can’t tell who is who although they don’t even look alike), and the Marques Lucius is rather quiet. The men speak exclusively in French with each other. James quickly gathers that the three in-laws share a general dislike for Sirius, which is equally if not more, reciprocated. James also starts to think that Barty has only a very limited understanding of French.

“So, have you lost the olive groove in Algeria yet?” one of the Lestrange brothers asks. “I cannot believe your father gave you free reign over the land in Algeria already. Or, at all.”

“I am the oldest son,” Sirius reminds him. “I inherit everything. I’d even inherit your wives’ parents’ fortune if we were English. Oh, what am I saying? I inherit most of it anyway because they are traditionalists, and my uncle has stopped speaking to his wife after Cissy’s birth because she was unable to provide him with even one son.”

“And you thank them their generosity by ruining the family legacy and bringing shame to the name?”

“Yes,” Sirius grins and winks at him before biting dramatically into his toast.

They keep at it throughout the entire breakfast, needling each other and spitting thinly veiled insults towards James.

James simply closes his ears off to the French and ignores them.

After breakfast, James claims he has business to attend to in the library. The guests and their wives should make themselves comfortable, and he will join them later to entertain. Sirius calls him a traitor when he passes him and leaves him alone with his in-laws.

He closes the door to the library and takes a deep breath. Regulus’ cousins obviously married men just as unbecoming as Regulus’ parents. And he will have to spend two or three days with them.

He groans at the thought.

James doesn’t have any business to attend to but hopes he bought himself an hour or two so he doesn’t have to interact with those men. He can use the time to make a plan regarding the courting of Regulus. Or think about his feelings for him, as Remus suggested.

He walks through the first room and drops himself on one of the sofas in the little reading space. The view over the flower gardens from here is beautiful. He asked the gardeners to replace some of the lilies with roses, and he cannot wait for them to come into bloom.

“James,” a hushed voice calls him from somewhere.

James sits up and looks around, confused.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes?” James answers hesitantly. Regulus steps out from behind a bookshelf. He is wearing one of the simpler dresses, and his hair is put up in a simple knot, with loose curls framing his face. “Reggie, what are you doing there?”

“Hiding.” He joins him in the reading space on the opposite sofa.

“Me too. I’m afraid we will have to entertain your cousins sooner than later.”  

Regulus hums. “I arranged a luncheon in the gardens. You will have to join us. Afterwards, I will show them the estate. I hope that keeps them busy for a while. We will have an early dinner, and then I can go to bed.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m trying a new technique of dealing with it.” Regulus pulls up his skirts and presents his legs. He is wearing a pair of his trousers underneath the dress. “It does not help much, to be honest.”

“I’m sorry you are uncomfortable. Is there anything I can do? I could send them home.”

“No. I deal with them. I allowed them to stay. Well, they did not ask.”

James stands up and takes his place on the other sofa next to Regulus. He startles and looks at him, confused.

“Say the word, and I throw them out. You’ve done a lot to make me and my family look good. I won’t let those people disrespect you.”

Regulus rolls his eyes at him. He looks positively endearing when he does it. “They disrespect you and Sirius more than me. Cissy loves me.”

James smiles and reaches for his hand. “Okay. Whatever you say, darling.”

Regulus slowly pulls his hand away from him. “You are very close, James.”

James isn’t much closer than he has been in the past. Regulus had never expressed any kind of discomfort when James sat close to him or touched him.

Did he cross a line last night? Did his almost-kiss make him uncomfortable, and now he needs him to be further away from him permanently?

James scoots away and looks at his hands in shame. Why is he always falling in love with people who don’t like him back? And why is he always crossing lines prematurely?

“It is not personal,” Regulus says suddenly. “Don’t look sad. Why do you look sad?”

James blinks and puts a smile on his face before looking at Regulus again. “I’m not sad. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

Regulus says nothing.

“Last night, too. At any point of the evening or night. If I-“

“James,” he interrupts him. “I don’t wish to discuss my birthday right now. Things were said and done. There were drinks and family and too much romantic drama that I doubt you even noticed for the most part. I am not in the mood to think of it or talk of it. Not with those people in the house.”

James bites his tongue. “I understand. Should I leave you alone?”

“Will you be sad if I ask you to leave?”

Yes. “No,” he says.

“Can you send my brother to me?”

“Of course.” James stands up.

“Thank you.” Regulus looks at him for a moment, then turns his attention to the flower garden outside the window.

James thinks back to the previous evening with a sigh. He made mistakes. Not only one, probably. He hopes almost kissing Regulus wasn’t one of them.

‘Have I said the wrong thing again?’
‘You always do.’

Regulus said it himself yesterday. He never said such a thing before. James didn’t think Regulus thought of him like this. If he does, James at least knows that Regulus doesn’t love him. How could he?

“Regulus, I have one question about last night.”

“Did I not just say-“

“It is a very pressing matter, and I’m afraid I cannot continue with my day until I have an answer.”

Regulus balls the fabric of his dress in his fist. “Then ask.”

“You said, I always say the wrong thing. Did you mean it? …Am I always saying the wrong things?”

Regulus slowly turns to him with a light frown. He bites his lip and then shakes his head. “Only if you do not mean them. They are only wrong when you aren’t truthful.”

“I am always truthful with you.”

He smiles faintly. “That is what I hope, yes. You often do things I do not understand. I don’t like not understanding. But I do not want to overthink it with my family in the house.”

Now, James doesn’t understand. Then again, he rarely understands Regulus’s sad moods. He does what he can to relieve him of it but it is all intuition, not analysis and understanding.

“Okay. I will send Sirius to you.”

“Merci.”

***

Regulus looks exquisite at dinner, like a porcelain doll. He shows as much emotion as one, too.

Back in the drawing room, Regulus excuses himself after one game of chess against Barty and one against the Marques. He wins, of course, which doesn’t make him any more popular with his Lordship.

Lupin opens the door for Regulus to leave. James looks after him with a sigh. He is inclined to call it an early night as well. Regulus’ and Sirius’ family is exhausting, and he dreads experiencing them in increasing states of drunkenness.

Sirius seems to share this sentiment but aims to get drunk before the rest of them.

When the family is out of the house, James will take Regulus down to the Pot to get drunk with him in a pub, as intended. He might take him to Italy simply to drink expensive wines with him without the presence of such depressing people as Bellatrix, Narcissa, and their men.

“Another?” James mumbles to Sirius, pointing at the glass he just emptied. “Let me get it for you.”

“Oh yes, my family will judge you even more. You should send the servants to bed, too. They will hate it. Isn’t it grand, being among family?”

“Your family? Yes, fantastic.”

“I should be grateful you married my sibling. Why did I not try to make this match before? Now, at least you are my in-law and a closer one than these men,” he mumbles and rolls his eyes dramatically.

James stands up to refill Sirius’ drink, although he probably shouldn’t.

Baron Lestrange and his brother are standing not far from the bar. They have their backs to James and mumble to each other in French. One of them laughs, the baron, most likely.

“But she still looks like a virgin. Maybe it’s just that sour look on her face, but I can’t imagine that soft little Viscount ever sticking it into her,” the other one says. “I tell you, one of us should have taken that little beast when we still could.”

Are they talking about Regulus? How dare they even think of him like this? James clenches his jaw and tightens his hand around Sirius’ glass.

“Who says we can’t anymore? Her husband surely cannot fuck her. Most men’s cocks would freeze off if they tried to stick it into that frigid bitch,” his bother chuckles.

“A risk I’d take to own those pretty little tits of hers.” They laugh and clink their glasses together.

James puts the glass down and rounds the brothers until he stands before them. They aren’t entirely convinced that James understands French very well.

“Ah, Lord James,” one of them says.

James grinds his teeth. He looks past the brothers to the other guests, ensuring no one watches them.

His hand shoots up to Lestrange’s neck. He grabs the bowtie and pulls it close until the man utters a pathetic choking noise.

“Monsieur Lestrange, let me tell you this in a language you will understand doubtlessly: One more word about my spouse, and I will personally ensure that your prison time for sodomising your brother will feel like a nice beach vacation compared to what I will do to you,” James growls at him in flawless French.

He glares at the other brother, conveying the threat to both of them. He stops choking Lestrange, pushes through them and addresses the rest of the guests with no less anger in his voice.

“My guests, I am delighted to inform you that you will leave my home on the morrow and take the earliest train back to from where you came. You are going to leave, and you will do it quietly without harassing my spouse for one more second. You may have breakfast in the breakfast room, but by lunch at the latest, I will have my servants throw all of your remaining belongings out of our windows. Have a good night.”

He rushes out of the drawing room, leaving Sirius to deal with his family, and goes downstairs to Mrs McGonagall’s office. He finds her sitting on a sofa with Poppy, having a late-night tea. The women stand when he enters.

“Lord James, what can I do for you?” She asks with carefully wrapped curiosity and confusion.

“You have keys to all the bedrooms, correct?”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“I need one for Lord Regulus’s room.”

She gives him a questioning look. She isn’t in the position to challenge his requests, but she has known him since he was a little boy who was always up to no good.

“Not to lock him in. For him to use.”

She takes one of the keys from the chatelaine attached to her belt. She crosses the room and opens a small cabinet, revealing a board with room-names and their corresponding keys. She picks one of them and hands it to James.

“Thank you. Good night.”

“Good night, my Lord.”

James leaves the women alone and rushes upstairs again, only slowing down when he reaches Regulus’ bedroom. He knocks on the door.

“Come in.”

Regulus sits in front of his vanity. He turns to him, frowning. “I expected Pandora.”

“You should confirm before admitting people into your rooms. We have guests of the most vile character.” He crosses the room and puts the key on the vanity. “I demanded they leave come morning.”

“Did something happen?”

“Those men,” he growls, “were talking about you. Only thinking about it makes my blood boil. I would prefer Barty as a life-long fixture in this house than have them for one more day.”

He balls his hands into fists. Who do those disgusting creatures think they are? Regulus looks up at him with concern.

James takes the key and his hand and places it in Regulus’ palm, closing his fingers around it. “Promise me you will lock your door tonight. Please.”

“What did they say? I have never seen you like this. Not even Barty scared you like this.”

“Barty seems a virtuous man next to your cousin’s husband and his brother. In fact, I would feel safer if I had Barty sleeping in your room than having them sleep in the same house as you.”

“Then it must be really bad.”

“Bad? I threatened them in French, darling. French.”

“Threatened?”

“In French.”

Regulus looks up at him with twinkling silver eyes. He smiles, biting his lip. “You make me feel like the main character of an old Gothic novel, James. I don’t think I have to be afraid of them.”

“Promise you will lock your door. Maybe I should stay in your room in case they come.” He could sleep in Regulus’ bed. He could protect him.

“None of them knows which room I am in, James.”

“Lock the door.”

“Okay. Fine. I lock the door. I promise. Promesse.”

James exhales in relief. He brings Regulus’ hand clasped around the key to his mouth and kisses his fingers. He has already removed his gloves so James’ lips touch his bare skin. He lingers there. His hands are rather cold. He bets his lips are warm. He looks at Regulus’ face. He is watching him with uncertainty. His lips are slightly parted, pink and wet. James wants to know how they feel against his skin, against his mouth. He wants to kiss him with all the passion in the world and the softness he deserves.

James lets go of Regulus’ hand. He brings his palm up to his face, sliding a lock of hair through his fingers and brushing his knuckles along Regulus’ cheek. His fingers come daringly close to his lips as if this touch could ever be a substitute for kissing him. Regulus breathes in deeply, like he is bracing himself for something. James remembers the library. Regulus found him too close, then. James draws his hand back and instead touches his hair. He pulls one of the combs out of his curls. Regulus exhales again.

James stands up and walks behind him. He smiles at him through the mirror and starts taking out the hairpins.

He smooths his hands over the newly freed curls. Regulus looks a bit more like Regulus again.

A light knock from the door interrupts them.

“Who?” Regulus calls to the door.

“It’s Pandora, my Lord.”

“Come in.”

The girl opens the door. “I apologise for taking so long, my Lord. I had to search the laundry room for-, oh, Lord James. My apologies. I did not see you there.”

“I should go,” James says softly. Regulus nods slowly while turning the key in his hands. “When they are gone tomorrow, I thought we could go to the theatre.”

“Can we just stay in tomorrow? I'd rather have you tell me stories than the theatre.”

James cannot contain his delight at the offer. “Anything you want, darling.”

Regulus smiles at him through the mirror with one corner of his mouth. James can feel his heart speed up at the sight.

This isn’t simply attraction for attraction’s sake.

He is sure now.

He is in love with him.

***

After James’ small outburst – which was likely justified yet overdramatic by English standards – the drawing room cleared rather quickly. Barty fell into a laughing fit at the guests’ confused and shocked faces. The Marchioness Slytherin cursed in French and started a fight with her sister, which left Sirius grinning, drinking, and even applauding like he was witnessing a play. The Marchioness finally stomped out of the room, quickly followed by her husband. The Baron and his brother were suspiciously quiet, and the Baroness glared at them and insulted them in French before leaving as well, calling them to follow her in a sharp tone.

Barty left soon after, still chuckling, with the effect of Sirius and Remus finding themselves alone in the drawing room.

Not too long ago, this would have been a blessing. Sirius would have stayed behind on purpose to achieve this. They would kiss on the sofa and fool around on the expensive rugs.

Not today.

Sirius is ignoring Remus while quietly sipping on his drink.

Remus is tired. He didn’t sleep last night. He curled into himself on the cold floor and lay there until morning. The things Sirius said to him were vile. He hadn’t felt that amount of hatred since prison, and it came from the one person he thought could never hate him.

Grow tired of him, sure. Become indifferent to him, of course. But hate?

All because of what? Because he didn’t reciprocate Sirius’ love confession?

He remembers that night, how Sirius came running to him and started babbling like a hyperactive puppy, making no sense.

‘You should go to bed. You’re talking nonsense.’

- that was his crime? That sentence is what made him deserving of this kind of punishment? Of losing Sirius and being treated like a mere servant? Could it have hurt him so badly?

He didn’t even say he doesn’t believe in love. He didn’t explain how he learned that very day that love doesn’t exist, that he cannot have it, and that Sirius’ confession was ultimately only capable of ruin.

Sirius took it personally. He took it like the reason Remus didn’t say it back was that he could love someone, just not Sirius.

If he could just explain… If he could tell him all the things he learned, maybe he wouldn’t regain Sirius’ affection but at least lose his anger and his hate.

Remus steps away from the door. “Sirius, can-“

“It is getting rather late. I will go to bed, too.” He stands up.

“Can you just listen to me, please?”

Sirius scoffs. “I think I’ve heard enough from you for a lifetime, thanks. Night, Scarface.”

Scarface.

Remus’ body is covered in scars and prison-made injuries. He doesn’t care for most of them. His face is another story. He was never vain, but when they slashed his face, it felt like he lost himself all over again. He kept looking in the mirror and failing to recognise himself. First, through thick bandages, then across the angry wounds.

They took something from him that night, Remus wasn’t aware he could lose. He hated his appearance. He used to smash mirrors until his hands were bloody. He insisted on not having one in his room when he got here. He was adamant he couldn’t work for James because a face like this doesn’t belong in any nobleman’s household. James was insistent. He is a stubborn man and believed in him as a person.

It was Sirius who made him feel normal about the scars. Sirius found him irresistibly attractive and barely let an opportunity pass to tell him so. He kissed the marks and complimented him in all the languages he knew until every biting remark from other people faded to nothing. He can be indifferent to them now because the one person who matters thinks he is attractive – not despite the scars but with them.

The one person who matters, the person who changed everything, the person who returned to him a sense of self-worth and personhood, calls him Scarface. Disfigured.

Remus half forgot how much power Sirius held over him until it came crashing down around him.

“How dare you?” Remus whispers. “How dare you call me that? You’re using this against me? What happened, Sirius? A few months ago, you’d have punched anyone who dared to call me that.”

“Well, that wasn’t really me, was it? I went on a little soul-searching trip after London, and I found myself again: Sirius Black, worthless, unlovable problem child who ruins everything that is put in front of him. Could not have done it without you, so thank you very much.”

Sirius puts his glass down with force and tries to leave.

Rage begins to clog Remus’ brain. “You are so fucking self-absorbed! Has it ever occurred to you that not everything is about you?”

Sirius snorts and shakes his head. “You know, many people have said that to me in my day, Lupin. But no one had the nerve to say it when it is literally about my feelings regarding my relationships. I am the son of my parents at the end of the day. Of course, you don’t love me. So why keep pretending I’m a better person than I am?”

“I never said I didn’t love you!” it breaks out of Remus in a desperate tone, and he isn’t sure what he means with it.

Sirius remains calm. “Yes, you did. Maybe not with so many words, but we both know you meant it. Nonsense. That is what you said. But you know what? That is totally fine! Because I don’t love you either. Lapse in judgement. It happens.”

Without doing so much as looking at him, Sirius rushes through the room to the door.

“Was it also a lapse in judgement when you said I was handsome with the scars?” Remus mutters bitterly. Sirius is half out the door but stops. He doesn’t turn.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Sirius hesitates. He finally turns around, and Remus is surprised at the amount of sadness he recognises in his face.

“Have you learned nothing from the books, Lupin? It is not the outside that makes us pretty or ugly. It is the soul. Look around. We are all monsters here.”

Remus has nothing to say in response, and Sirius doesn’t want to wait for him to think of something. He is out the door and up the stairs before the words fully reach him.

He stands alone in the drawing room for what feels like hours, staring at the spot where Sirius vanished.

He ends up in his bed chamber. He isn’t entirely sure how he got here and how he commanded his legs to move.

He stares at the bed. He can still hear it creaking and mocking him. He can see Sirius on it, naked, in the company of men who aren’t him. He has changed the sheets since. Still, the mere sight of it forces bile into his mouth.

How does he deserve this? How does he deserve the man who gave him everything when he thought he deserved nothing, shattering him and treating him like this?

Remus finds the strength to change out of his livery and into his pyjamas. He stares at the bed. He cannot bring himself to touch it. It looks to him like a hot stove waiting to burn him.

Remus bites his tongue. He sneaks out into the hallway and to a small cupboard. He takes a new pillow and blanket. He tosses the things on the floor in his room and lies down. He cannot sleep in the bed.

He thinks of the book he keeps in the drawer. He put the one photograph he owns of Sirius on page 63 to a poem Sirius read for him once.

Un éclair… puis la nuit! — Fugitive beauté
Dont le regard m’a fait soudainement renaître,
Ne te verrai-je plus que dans l’éternité?

Ailleurs, bien loin d’ici! trop tard! jamais peut-être!
Car j’ignore où tu fuis, tu ne sais où je vais,
Ô toi que j’eusse aimée, ô toi qui le savais!

Scarface.  

From anyone else, it would have been just a word. From Sirius, a word is everything. This word is a wound so deep he can feel it throughout his body. It feels like the highest betrayal.

A lightning flash… then night! O fleeting beauty,
By whose glance I was suddenly reborn,
Shall I see you again only in eternity?

Somewhere else, way too far from here! Too late! Perhaps never!
For I do not know where you flee, you don’t know where I go,
O you whom I would have loved, O you who knew it!

***

Chapter Text

“The longing that I felt to press my mouth on his beautiful mouth and parted lips” Teleny 53

James is the first one in the breakfast room. The mail and newspaper are already laid out for him, and upon sitting down, James scans the gossip column, searching for any commentary on Regulus’ ball. Since that night, there has only been a brief article about the ball. It was positive, though not exactly praising. There hasn’t been a bad word for a while now. Even at the ball, Snape behaved quite well. James cannot shake the sneaking suspicion that a certain person might have had a conversation with him.

As if on cue, Barty enters the room.

“Anything interesting in the paper?”

“I’m not finished with it yet.”                                                                  

“Anything bad about Regulus?” He sits down with mountains of food as usual.

“Nothing. Snape did call Lily and Rowena the best-dressed women at the ball, though. I assume Rowena paid him for her mention.”

Barty smirks and reaches for the tea.

Sirius joins them shortly after. He keeps his eyes on the floor. Instinctively, James looks at Remus, finding him staring determinedly at the other side of the room. James’ suspicion that something happened between these men is getting stronger. Regulus is more perceptive in these things. Maybe he should ask him about it.

Finally, Regulus enters.

His hair almost reached his shoulders yesterday, the curls and waves getting looser the longer his hair gets, increasingly resembling Sirius’s. This morning, he let Pandora cut it again. It is still long enough to form the curls, alternating in shorter and longer layers and coming down slightly longer in the back, tickling his nape. His face is framed by shorter waves, pulling his high cheekbones into focus and opening his eyes. The stardust freckles across his cheeks are slightly darker than they were in the winter months.

James can feel his heart swelling at the sight of him. He enters the room in dark green clothes and confidence wrapped around him like a cloak.

“Good morning,” James says quietly, trying to memorise him fully.

He smiles back at him. “Good morning.”

“You look very handsome this morning. I like the hair.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you do me a favour? Shake your head a little.”

James can almost feel someone behind him rolling his eyes. It could be Remus or Barty, or both. Probably both. Sirius is looking at him with one eyebrow arched up. James doesn’t care about them.

Regulus rolls his eyes, too, but smiles with one corner of his mouth. “Idiot,” he mumbles and lightly shakes his head, letting the curls swing from side to side. Some of the waves fall into his face. James bites his lip. “Happy?”

“Yes. So handsome…”

Regulus rolls his eyes again and helps himself to his breakfast. Sirius has taken up his spot next to James again. “Move,” Regulus directs him in French.

“I was here first,” Sirius grumbles.

“Move. You’re in my spot.”

“I always sat next to James before you came.”

“My husband. My house. My chair. Shoo.”

It isn’t the first time Regulus called him ‘my husband’ in front of James, but this time, the words shoot through him like a shot of espresso. His Husband. James’ chest swells with pride just a little.

“You heard the man, Sirius,” James chimes in. “Shoo.”

Grumbling and mumbling, Sirius climbs out of his chair and into the next without pushing either of them back. He can be a defiant child sometimes.

Regulus claims the seat next to James. “Can you give me the paper?”

James hands him the paper. “Do you want to go to the Pot tonight? We could go to a pub and play cards.”

They stayed in the day before after Regulus’ family finally left the house. James has been itching to show Regulus more of the little town lying at their feet.

“The men are bad at cards, and you’ll have so much fun robbing them of money and wedding bands.”

“Sounds good.”

Sirius leans over to them. “I agree. When are we leaving?”

James wanted this time to be exclusive to him and Regulus. Maybe he can make up an excuse to leave Sirius at home.

Barty snorts. “Idiot. If Sirius comes, I’ll go too. Rosier’s going to take us, right?”

“No one invited you, Crouch,” Sirius says, stabbing the eggs on his plate.

“They didn’t invite you, either, Black. Well, Lord James, is there any reason you’d like to go to the Pot alone with Regulus? Just say the reason, and we’ll leave you alone on your little outing.”

Regulus shoots his friend a look James doesn’t understand.

He sighs deeply. “Whatever. You can both come.”

“You could also get your own life,” Regulus suggests with a smile. “Is there coffee? I’m getting tired of English tea. James, didn’t you promise to take me to France for the summer?”

Remus takes the can of coffee over to the table.

“What’s this?” Sirius asks, “France? Visiting Maman and Papan?”

“God, no,” James mumbles, “Visiting the coast in the south.”

“Ah, do you want to stay in our house? We inherited a house at the coast from someone at some point. We rent it out most times, but I can write to the housekeeper to ensure it is empty for your stay.”

“Is it where you stayed when your family took you to the coast?”

“Yes. It is quite nice. I haven’t been in years. There is a beautiful beach, clear water, and a tiny village a few kilometres away. But you have to be careful when you go there. The only landmark is one of those huge cathedrals, and people flock to it a few times a year. We once went there around easter and had to sit in that thing for hours. Do you remember, mon petit?”

Regulus shrugs. “Churches all look the same to me. But it was likely prettier than the churches in England.”

“I like churches,” Barty says for no reason. “Best place to have sex in, trust me.”

Sirius clicks his tongue. “Do you ever think before you speak, Crouch?”

“Rich coming from you,” Regulus rolls his eyes. “The church on the coast, was that the one where you bend the priest over the alter?”

Remus suddenly starts coughing behind them. James looks back at him, concerned. Remus mumbles an apology.

“Could be. How do you know about that? I never told you.”

“I was hiding in the pews from Maman. Moaning echoes in churches like that.”

James whips his head back around to the conversation. Sirius doesn’t have enough decency even to blush.

“Did you stay while I fucked that man?” Sirius asks, bewildered.

“No. I left as soon as one of you said, ‘Prenez-le au nom de Dieu.’ It was traumatising.”

Sirius chuckles into his tea. James stares at them, blushing on their behalf since the brothers refused.

“What does it mean?” Barty asks.

“Nothing,” James says quickly. “Nothing suitable for breakfast.”

Regulus smirks. “It means, ‘take it in the name of the Lord’.”

James rubs his hands over his face. “Okay, can we change the topic?”

Barty laughs at him. “You’re such a prude. How can you live with all of us and still be such a prude? Hey, Sirius, who fucks better Catholic priests or an English Vicar?”

When Sirius starts to look genuinely in thought about this question, James stands up. “I think that is enough breakfast. End of the conversation. End of the meal. Why can’t either of you find your romantic sides?”

“Because we need to level out the scales,” Barty snorts. “We are only as perverted as you are romantic. Either one would make normal people vomit.”

James glares at him. “No more Church Sex.”

Barty shrugs and smirks at Regulus. “Your loss.”

James looks from one to the other and back, confused. Whose loss? James makes a mental note not to let Regulus go to churches with Barty.

***

Evan takes them down into the Pot in the early evening.

Evan looks handsome tonight. Barty peeks through the small window in the carriage, watching the smooth leather of the reins folding and bending in his fist. Barty bites his lip. He is jealous of a pair of reins. That is how far he has fallen. But since he is already at rock bottom, he can stay on his knees just as well and suck Evan’s cock.

“What are you looking at? You look … hungry,” Regulus whispers concerned. James and Sirius are sitting opposite them, chattering away.

“I want to ride that so badly,” Barty mumbles.

Regulus frowns, looking out of the small window. “The horse?” Then he frowns deeper. “The horse, right?”

Barty winks at him. Regulus likes to act French about sexual themes – knowledgeable and shameless. Barty has seen him blush and squirm too often to buy the act. Especially when he is around James. Regulus glances back at his husband, and Barty could bet that he thinks about riding him in the carriage at that moment.

James, clueless as ever, keeps talking about childhood shenanigans with Sirius. They don’t know each other long enough for it to have been genuine ‘childhood’ shenanigans, but they act like teenagers around each other anyway.

Rosier holds the carriage before a pub and opens the door for them to step out.

“Thank you, Rosier,” James says. “Have a pint on us, but remember you will have to drive us back home later.”

“Yes, my Lord. Thank you.”

Being driven to an ordinary pub in a carriage by a professional coachman seems unnecessarily ostentatious. James must be glad he is reasonably handsome and has no power over taxes, or these people would riot against him and his family.

James is received with a warm welcome upon entering. And an even warmer one when he starts buying drinks for everyone. If Barty granted him more intellect and a mind for plotting, he might have thought it a strategy to cheat them out of money at cards later.

Evan drinks at a different table, telling tall tales as usual and gathering a crowd around him.

Barty nurses his beer, his eyes never leaving the other man. A round of cheers echoes through the bar; James probably paid for another round for everyone.

“Hey, Barty,” Regulus appears near him, “Will you play with us, or do you forfeit already?”

Evan looks up and catches his eyes through the room. He stands up.

“I’ll give you my money later.”

“Ah,” Regulus follows his line of sight, “I see you want to give away your dignity first.”

Maybe.

Barty pushes through the crowd. He rounds the building and finds Evan smoking a cigarette on the box seat.

Barty has tried apologising several times. He is getting tired of it. He is getting tired of this man spitting into his face – figuratively, not literally. He isn’t tired of the literal part of it. It’s hot. He feels no shame admitting it.

Evan locks eyes with him in the glow of his cigarette. Barty approaches him. He takes the cigarette out of his hand and takes a drag himself, inhaling the bitter stuff and blowing the smoke toward Evan’s face.

“Got bored with your tales?” Barty asks.

Evan looks down at him, unimpressed. “What do you want, Crouch?”

“Since you’re neither going to talk nor listen to me,” he presses the cigarette against the box and drops it to the ground, “I think the only options left are for you to slap me or suck me off.”

Evan jumps from the box seat. He reaches for Barty’s tie, lazily pulling on it. “Those are the only options? How unimaginative.”

Barty bites his lip. With his hands where they are, Evan could choke or undress him in seconds. It doesn’t matter as long he keeps his hands on him. The man is unpredictable, and Barty wants him to do one as much as the other. Preferably both.

Evan pulls him out of the light of the streets, between two carriages and pushes him not ungently against theirs. He brings his face up to Barty’s. He can smell the cigarette on him. He smells like cheap beer and work. What a disgrace it is to be in his vicinity. Barty wants to live there.

Evan pulls on the tie until it comes undone. He grabs the ends with both hands and pushes the collar of his shirt aside. Barty tilts his head to the side, presenting his neck for Evan to do as he pleases. He wants to feel his hands on his bare skin again. He wants him to bite and lick, choke, claim and own. He wants Evan. He wants forgiveness and sympathy, but he won’t get those. Maybe he will get belonging and possession.

Evan leans in until his lips connect with Barty’s neck. Barty’s hands are pressed against the carriage behind him. Evan sucks harshly on his skin until the spot burns. Barty feels blood rushing to his face and the lower regions of his body. He wraps his arms around Evan.

Don’t stop. He pleads with him in his head.

Evan sucks an angry mark onto his neck. He scraps his teeth over his skin and then kisses the spot. He pulls back. His hand twists the tie until it tightens around the base of Barty’s neck.

Evan looks up at him. Barty can barely see the white of his eye in the dark. “Is this how it is to be between us, now?”

“You won’t listen to me.”

“You won’t stay away from me.” Evan looks him over and tightens the fabric around his neck. “You used me. Made a fool out of me. Treated me like every other pawn in your stupid and insane little games. And every time I get angry with you and hurt you, you want to kiss me. I spit on you, and you want to suck my cock out of gratitude. I hit you, and you beg me to do it again. You confuse me. I can’t say why I’m even doing it anymore. I can’t say whether I want to punish or reward you. I want to be gentle with you just to annoy you and turn you away. … I don’t know if I want you to turn away anymore.”

I fell in love with you. Regulus was right, Barty thinks. Gods, how pathetic. How pathetic I am. How pathetic this is. I want you so badly. You could treat me however you wanted. I’d like it all as long as it’s you.

Barty opens his mouth to speak.

“Don’t talk,” Evan instructs him and turns his hand to pull the fabric tighter. “I hate it when you talk. I hate you. And yet… look at me. As soon as you come near me, I lose all sense. You won’t stay away, and I don’t have the strength to deny you. I want you even when you show up drunk and yelling at my house. I hate you even when you look at me like a lost little pup begging for forgiveness. What are you doing to me?”

Barty reaches up and pulls Evan’s face to him. Evan doesn’t resist. He comes willingly until their lips almost touch.

“It happened,” Barty whispers. “Now, you are as insane as I. How stupid I was to think you’d cure me. Instead, I corrupted you.”

The slap that follows unexpectedly sends his face flying to the side. Then Evan grabs his face with force and presses their mouths together until neither can say another stupid thing.

Evan’s teeth pull on Barty’s lip. He still holds on to his tie. Barty pushes his hand into Evan’s hair, raking his nails over his scalp and pulling him closer until he is trapped between his body and the carriage. Barty pushes his tongue into Evan’s mouth. He tastes blood from bitten lips. Evan moans against him. His leg slides between his. Barty rubs his crotch against it, breathlessly groaning into Evan’s mouth. He is running out of air. It doesn’t matter. He feels dizzy. It doesn’t matter. He tastes and breathes Evan until he is drunk on him.

Suddenly, Evan pulls back. It feels like he ripped a part of Barty off as he did.

He looks at him in the dark, panting heavily.

“You didn’t corrupt me,” he disagrees quietly. “I’ve always been as insane as you. We could have made each other better.” He pushes him aside and pulls at the carriage door to climb inside. “We didn’t.”

Barty follows him into the carriage and pulls the door shut. “All we can do now is make it worse, I assume,” he whispers.

“If you have other plans, you know where the door is.” Evan opens his belt.

The carriage is darker than the streets, even. It doesn’t matter. He can feel the heat radiating off Evan. He can smell him in the crowded space.

Barty pulls his belt off as well and throws his jacket down.

Evan finds him in the dark. His naked skin is burning hot. Evan pulls him into his lap. He takes his hand and places a kiss into his palm, just to spit into it after. Barty hums as he feels it hit his skin. Evan leads his hand down to his cock.

Barty starts pumping him. He hears Evan panting. His hot breath hits Barty’s shoulder. Barty shivers on top of him.

Evan’s mouth finds Barty’s neck again. He sucks harshly on his skin as if he wanted to punish him for this. Barty moans at the feeling.

Evan’s arm snakes around his middle and holds him while he leans away, searching for something in the dark. Barty gathers more spit in his hand. Evan is hard and heavy in his hand. He needs him inside his body.

Soft fabric wraps around Barty’s neck. He can’t say whether it's his tie or Evan’s. It doesn’t matter. He hears a bottle being opened. Barty leans forward in anticipation, lifting his arse.

“Touch me,” he whispers, “Evan, touch me.”

Evan groans against him. “Beg, you fucking lunatic.”

“Please touch me. Fuck me senseless. Spit on me. Slap me. I need you so badly. You have no idea what you’re doing to me. Please, Evan.”

Evan slaps his arse and pinches the flesh. Barty moans lowly, stroking him faster. Wet fingers find his hole. He spreads the lubricant with teasing fingers.

Barty moans when Evan pushes into him. He silences another noise by pressing his mouth against Evan. Evan turns his face until he can kiss him. Their tongues clash together. Evan’s fingers are inside of him, thrusting impatiently. Barty doesn’t need all of this. He wants him inside. He wants to ride him in the carriage with his hands around his throat and his lips on his mouth.

“Fuck me,” Barty groans. “Please.”

Evan bites into his shoulder. Barty curses and grinds down on his fingers.

Evan pulls his fingers out of him, blindly reaching for the lubricant again. He knocks Barty’s hand away and spreads it on his cock. Barty’s skin is burning with want. His mouth feels dry. He can hear Evan taking deep breaths in pleasure, his mouth hanging open like a perfect, hidden invitation. Barty leans in, determined to find the source and kiss him again.

Evan pulls on the fabric around Barty’s neck, yanking him back. Barty digs his nails into Evan’s shoulders.

Evan’s hands find his hips. He pulls his body against his. Barty grinds down on his erection, so close to where he wants it.

Barty reaches back, grasps Evan’s cock in his hand and slowly lowers himself on him.

A slap lands on his arse, echoing slightly through the carriage.

“Not so fast,” Evan whispers by his ear. He pinches his flesh and drags his hands up Barty’s back over poorly healed scars. Barty shudders.

Evan grabs the end of the tie and pulls on the ends, tightening it around Barty’s throat. His hot breath hits Barty’s face. His cock is hard between their bodies. He moves gently, rubbing himself against Evan. His hand finds his face in the dark, grabbing his chin.

“You want me?”

Barty lets out a strangled noise. The restriction around his neck isn’t enough to hurt or make him dizzy, but Evan’s power to do just that is unreasonably exciting.

“Me?”

Yes.

“You want me to fuck you? You want me to spit on you? You want me to call you names while I fuck you better than any other man? You want me?”

Yes. Gods, yes.

Evan holds Barty’s jaw so tightly he can’t speak. He tries to nod instead. He moves his body closer to him, signalling yes. Please. Yes.

“Not Lord Regulus,” Evan continues. Barty pauses, confused at the shift in tone. “Not for him. Not for your amusement and to annoy Lord James. No other agenda. It’s just me on your mind right now, isn’t it?” He moves his hand from his jaw, whispering, “Isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Evan’s lips find his. Barty wraps his arms around him, kissing him desperately. Evan places one hand on his arse, pulling a cheek to the side. He pushes Barty down on his cock, catching the moan in his mouth.

Barty impatiently grinds down on Evan until his skin hits his thighs. Evan groans and kisses him. Their breath and noises mingle as Barty moves his hips and rides Evan in the carriage.

Evan’s hands handle him aggressively, digging into his flesh and scratching in a mix of pleasure and underlying anger. Barty likes it. Evan knows he likes it. He doesn’t do it hard enough to hurt him genuinely. He knows what he is doing.

A part of Barty wants him to hurt him. He wants him to air out all his anger and aggression until he listens to him. He wants to feel the pain mixing with the pleasure, pulling him in and binding him to Evan like a spell.

Barty pulls on his hair and kisses him, snapping his hips quickly, drowning every moan in Evan’s mouth. Evan reaches between them and grasps Barty’s cock, pumping it fast.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Evan whispers, his breath hits Barty’s skin. He leans his head back, riding him harder. His cock fills him up and stretches him out. Evan leans in again, his lips finding Barty’s neck. He sucks harshly on his skin. He says his name in a breathy voice.

Evan’s skin is burning under Barty’s fingertips. He smells cheap, like horses and leather. He tastes like cigarettes. Evan bucks his hips, thrusting up into him with the same desperation with which Barty is trying to kiss him. Evan sinks his teeth into the skin by his shoulder, moaning his name when he comes inside of him.

Barty can feel every twitch of Evan’s cock inside of him. He memorises the feeling, rocking against the man and thrusting his dick in Evan’s fist.

“Kiss me,” Barty begs.

Evan’s mouth finds his again. One hand is on his hips, helping him fuck himself on his softening cock.

“Hurry up, we don’t have all night,” Evan says teasingly by his ear and kisses his cheek. “Come for me, you fucking lunatic.”

Barty comes in Evan’s hands, spreading his load over his fingers and possibly their bodies.

Barty sighs and leans against Evan. A softer side of him wishes for Evan to clasp his hands around him and sit with him for a while.

He almost does so. Evan’s arms hesitantly sneak around him. He places a hand on his nape and slowly runs it down his back. He touches the scars he has there and flinches.

Barty bites his tongue.

Rather ungently, Evan pushes Barty down from him and looks for his things in the dark. “You should go back in before Lord Regulus comes looking. I clean up.”

Barty finds Evan’s lighter and clicks it on to at least see enough to search for his clothes.

“So, is this it?” He asks quietly when he jumps out of the carriage. Evan looks messy in the low light. “This is how it will be? Like before I messed up?”

Evan frowns and fishes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “No. I liked you before you messed up. I told you we cannot be friends again.”

“Because I’m a bad person?” He repeats the words Evan said to him after they punished Snape. “Because I’m just deranged enough to be a good fuck?”

An emotion flashes across Evan’s face that Barty doesn’t know how to process.

“Okay, let us only have sex, but can you not even like me anymore? Is what I’ve done so awful that I must be the worst person in your life, Evan?”

The same expression flashes across his face again.

“It’s not just that you are a bad person. It’s that you are capable of turning me into one. Again. I can’t let you.”

“I’m not trying-“

“Either it is what it is, or it isn’t. You can’t have more. I can give you my body, not my person. … yes, what you’ve done was that awful.”

Barty can’t bear to look at him anymore. He bites his lip until he tastes blood. He turns away from the man and pulls the clothes in place, hiding all the marks he left on him like they mean nothing.

Inside, he orders the cheapest, strongest drink they have and downs two of them before wobbling over to Regulus, James, and Sirius. He pushes someone out of their chair and joins them at their table.

Regulus frowns at him. He arches one eyebrow as if to ask, ‘What happened to you?’

“Hey, Molly, are ya gonna do something in this century or not?” one of the men at the table slurs and waves his hand towards Regulus.

“What did you just call him?” James snaps. Sirius kicks the drunkard.

“Settle down you,” Regulus says, rolling his eyes. “He’s just getting fussy because he is losing. Call.”

“You better watch your mouth,” James hisses towards the man.

“Ugh, just kiss already,” Barty mutters under his breath, which earns him a kick from Regulus. What is it with those brothers and violence? Maybe Barty should lay one of them if their stupid lovers can’t get it together. Maybe Barty could try to get both. He never slept with a set of siblings. No, actually, he did. Yes, right, those…

Barty steals Regulus’ pint and drinks.

He never had a set of siblings at the same time, though. Well, as much as Regulus and Sirius like to point out how French they are, Barty has a bit of a doubt that they would get into his bed at the same time and have a little party. A shame, really. He isn’t exactly attracted to Sirius, but bedding that one would make Lupin jealous, and Barty enjoys a bit of mayhem and discord in James’ house. He could probably fuck him better than Lupin. Does Lupin have a big dick? He seems like someone with a big dick.

“That’s it!” the drunkard from before yells. “You stupid pretty-faced Molly are cheating! I know you are cheating! This is impossible!”

Barty looks up with sudden interest.

James is already on his feet. “What did I just say about watching your mouth?”

“James, it’s fine. I can handle myself,” Regulus says with a smirk and uses the excuse to touch James’ shoulder and push him back down.

One of the drunk men’s friends hisses something in his ear and then looks at James. “Our apologies, my Lord. He had too much to drink. We will be going.”

The friends pull the man out of his chair, who is still wailing on about how Regulus was cheating. Regulus laughs at him while inspecting his new treasures.

Sirius leans over the table and picks a coin from the pile. “You’re sharing, yes, mon petit?”

“Boys, we aren’t in a club in London. We’re giving most of this back,” James says, shaking his head with a smile. “These people don’t have money in abundance.”

“Then they shouldn’t gamble,” Regulus says with a shrug. He picks out a ring and holds it up to James like the idiot he is. Barty is getting bored with the men again. “Do you want this?”

“You’re ruining someone’s marriage, Reggie,” James says with a mischievous smirk. He reaches for the ring, nonetheless.

Regulus laughs and pulls it back. “You’ll get it tomorrow.” He slips the ring into his breast pocket. “We should go. If Barty drinks any more, we’ll have to carry him up to his rooms. And with ‘we’, I mean one of you.”

“Isn’t that what you pay servants for?” Sirius asks, grinning, and stands up. “I’ll pay up. Don’t leave without me.”

Regulus sighs, looking at the pile of treasure in front of him. He picks out a few bills and leaves the rest to James. “Give it back if you wish. We mustn’t scratch the image of you as their darling.” He stands up and pulls Barty up with him. “Come on, let’s take a walk.” He discreetly pulls on the collar of Barty’s shirt, likely to hide another bite mark. He feels rather judged by the look he gives him.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like I need help walking. I didn’t have that much to drink,” Barty grumbles and promptly runs into a table that appeared out of nowhere.

“I barely understood that, but you drank a lot in a very short time. You can barely walk in a straight line.”

Barty discreetly grabs an unattended pint from a table next to the door. Regulus leads him to the door of the pub and outside. “Did you and Rosier clean up after yourself?”

Barty grumbles at the name. Stupid Rosier. Stupid men.

He takes a deep breath of fresh May air when stumbling out of the pub.

“Does it feel good?” Regulus asks, frowning.

“What?”

He gestures vaguely at his neck.

“Oh, yes. Yes. Very. Like, very. Never had it done before?”

Regulus looks at him scandalised. “Non. Of course not.”

Barty chuckles and digs into his pockets in search of cigarettes. “You and your French mouth and English sensibilities.” He shakes his head. “Just you wait until our Lord Jamsie puts his lips on that long neck of yours and suck on it like a vampire. Then you’ll get it. I bet you bruise like a little virgin peach.”

“Mon Dieu,” Regulus whispers under his breath.

“Then he’ll get between your legs and suck a mark into the inside of your thigh. I promise you’ll love it.”

“Assez. Se taire,” Regulus hisses with scarlet cheeks. Either he just started speaking French, or Barty is far more drunk than he thought.

Barty chuckles and sips from the pint he stole. Regulus sighs dramatically and takes the glass from his hand.

A group of patrons passes them in the dim light of the streetlights. The nights are getting warmer, so Regulus has his coat swung over his shoulder.

“There, that’s him!” a slurry voice comes from somewhere. Barty and Regulus look up, confused.

A man charges at them. His equally drunk friends try to catch up with him. One yells something like, “Stop! Are you insane? He is a friend of Lord James's!”

Barty’s head is too heavy to react appropriately. He is about to ask what the bloke wants when he reaches them and swings for Regulus. Regulus ducks away, and the fist instead lands in Barty’s face.

Barty’s head is knocked to the side. The world spins around him and settles in an odd angle – or maybe he lies on the ground now. He isn’t entirely sure.

He looks up. The man is still trying to hit Regulus while yelling something about stupid rich folks.

The door to the pub opens, revealing James and Sirius.

“Hey, what’s this?” James yells, pulling focus.

The friends take several steps back. The man in question looks up at James. His face is red from anger and alcohol. He opens his mouth to yell at James when Regulus raises the pint in his hand and smashes it over the man’s head.

The glass shatters against his head and remains of perfectly good beer run down his head and neck, seeping into his clothes. The man sways from side to side until Regulus gives him a well-placed kick, causing him to fall over and land at eye level with Barty.

James blinks at the man and then at Regulus, his expression somewhere between bewilderment and arousal – a reaction Regulus causes quite often in others. He looks at the man unbothered and steps over him. “Make sure to take your friend when you leave,” he says to the other group before rounding the pub and making his way to the carriages.

Barty pushes himself up, dusts his clothes off and kicks the men while walking by.

“Reggie, are you okay?” James asks and pulls Regulus to him when they are largely out of sight. He cups his cheeks and inspects his face.

“Hey, I’m the one who got hit,” Barty reminds him.

James tears his eyes from Regulus to glare at him. “Why is it that every time I leave you alone with him, you get into a fight together?”

“James, would you calm down?” Sirius rolls his eyes at him. “Nothing happened, yes?”

Regulus smiles and gently removes James’ hands from his face. “I’m a grown man, Sunshine. I can look out for myself, no?”

“I like looking out for you.” James pouts.

Barty draws closer to Sirius. “Do you ever feel like… just pushing them together? You don’t have to watch this all the time, be glad. It’s getting weird.”

Sirius frowns at him. “You’ve got blood and spit on your neck. Talking about weird.”

Barty snorts. “At least I’m getting some while the lot of you is just doing blue-balled pining.”

Sirius looks at him, puzzled. “I do not know what that means.” He walks up to James and Regulus. “Your friend is saying odd shit, mon petit. Can we go home?”

“If James worked through his shock, of course.”

“Don’t mock me, Reggie.”

“Oh, but you make it so fun,” Regulus smirks at him. Barty could swear James blushed at that.

Sirius shakes his head. “Where is Rosier? I want to go home.”

Evan appears from between the carriages and looks at the group, surprised. “My Lords, Mr Crouch, do you wish to drive home already?”

“Yes. Regulus robbed half the village and knocked out a man twice his size. The evening can only go downhill from here,” Sirius says with a throwaway gesture.

Evan blinks at Lord Regulus in surprise, then quickly gathers himself and readies the carriage for their departure.

***

Regulus wears the ring he promised James on a band around his neck. He has done this once before, and the present ended up with Lupin. Not this time. He will wear it day and night, next to his heartbeat, against his skin flashing hot red when James touches him ever so slightly. The ring will be charged and bathed in that before he hands it to James to wear.

He tucks it into his corset in the morning before going to breakfast. Sirius and Remus are still ignoring each other while making everyone around them painfully aware of the fact that they are not talking.

James has caught on to it, too, it seems. He keeps looking worriedly from one friend to the other. Maybe he will get something out of them since Sirius still refuses to talk with Regulus about the entire ordeal.

He shouldn’t worry, he said. It is big brother business to worry, he said, and kissed his cheek like a child’s.

Sooner or later, Regulus finds himself in the library. He can wander through this house aimlessly without a single soul disturbing him, but as soon as he sits down with a book and a cup of tea, someone finds him to lament about one thing or another.

Today, it is Barty, and he is lamenting about Rosier.

“I cannot deal with that man anymore,” Barty says in lieu of a greeting and flings himself on a sofa. “He is infuriating.”

“Rosier?”

“Who else?”

“Every man who ever lived?”

Barty rolls his eyes theatrically. “What about you? Tell me at least your crush has done something worthy of note as of late because I am getting nowhere. Why did you tell me I was in love with Evan? Could have done well without it.”

Regulus closes his book. “Have I told you that James almost kissed me?”

Barty is instantly on high alert. “You kissed?”

“I said, almost. I think. He leaned in, and I think he wanted to kiss me, but then he didn’t.”

Barty groans. “How disappointing. Well, how will you proceed?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Are you going to kiss him?”

Barty could have just as well suggested he performed a naked mating dance in front of the entire manor. “No. I can’t just do that.”

“Why not? What else are you going to do? Talk like a sane person?”

“No… I’m not good at these things, Barty. I can’t talk about it with him. Much less can I just kiss him. …I mean, what if I misinterpret the signals?”

Barty gives him a look. “Reggie, mate, from man to man, I tell you: His signals are so big and obvious that a blind man could see them. You’re just being stupid.”

“You think it is easy to read signals? Alright, tell me what you think Rosier’s behaviour means. Huh? You don’t know? But it is easy, no?”

Barty clicks his tongue. “Be glad you sound so delightful with your little French accent. Otherwise, I would start slapping you.”

“You would not dare. James would rip you limp from limp.”

He nods. “He would because that is how obvious his signals are. Evan is far more cryptic than him. He says he hates me and that I’m awful, then he fucks me and keeps pulling me in. He can’t be my friend or even be associated with me because I make him bad, but he fucks me like it means something. He comes sneaking into my bedroom for another taste of it. He lets me have him again and again, just to reject me right after. …James tries to kiss you, wants to protect you, and uses the smallest excuse to touch you.”

Regulus carefully conceals the smile that wants to come to him at Barty’s words. Maybe he is right about James, after all.

“I could speak to Rosier. I doubt I will be much help, but I could try.”

Barty laughs and shakes his head. “Oh, Reg, if I ever get to the point where I need the help of the social and romantic skills of Regulus Black, I know everything is lost.”

Regulus could be offended by his statement. He is entirely correct, of course. Regulus decides to be offended anyway. He grabs a pillow and throws it at Barty.

“Hey! Why can’t we, as French and English men, live in peace, huh?”

Regulus throws another pillow, sending Barty into a fit of giggles.

“How about this: As soon as you got laid by Lord Jamsie, you can interfere with Evan and me as much as you please.”

Regulus stands up from the sofa, grabs the pillow from the ground and smacks Barty with it.

“You are a filthy, filthy man, Barty Crouch. There is no ‘getting laid’ with James. He is not a beast like you.”

“For your sake, I sincerely hope he is. And I hope he plucks up the courage and gives you the long-awaited sacred first kiss of true love.” Barty puts his hand against his forehead and fake-swoons. Regulus hits him again. Sometimes, he likes him better when he is depressed.

***

When it is finally time for dinner, Regulus accomplished to read a total of ten pages. After Barty left to sulk elsewhere, James and Sirius abandoned whatever nonsense they’d been up to and decided to annoy him instead. They want to go hunting on the morrow, and Regulus was to administer an adequate bet between them.

After dinner, they gather in the drawing room. Dinner and Luncheon weren’t happy affairs at the moment. The air between Sirius and Remus is so thick they could cut it with their steak knives.

When Lupin does catch Sirius looking, his sorrowful eyes turn angry and accusatory, to which Sirius responds with an aristocratic sneer.

Lupin wouldn’t betray the integrity of his job for their quarrel, but Regulus assumes the man is only one scoff away from spilling wine all over Sirius's best dinner jacket.

Sirius has been drinking quite a bit during dinner and doesn’t stop now. Glaring at Remus, he downs glasses of whiskey like a Scotsman.

“Lupin, I think that will be all for tonight. Thank you,“ James says when Sirius sways over to get another glass. “Tell Peter I want to be roused by eight. We'll have an early breakfast before the hunt. “

“Very well, my Lord.“ Remus nods and leaves them alone.

“Barty, could you leave us alone, too?“

Barty, who just set up a chessboard for him and Regulus, looks up. “Oh, come on, you don’t want to exclude me from all the drama now do you?“

“There’s no drama. Go to bed.“

Barty looks at Regulus, quietly telling him to do something about his mad husband.

“I’ll fill you in later,“ Regulus whispers to him, which seems enough to appease Barty and move him to go.

“Sirius, come here,“ James demands.

“Ugh, stop, you sound like your mother when you speak like this.“

Regulus, unwilling to miss a single thing of this, joins James on the sofa.

“Well, what have I done wrong, Maman?“ Sirius flings himself on the sofa opposite them.

James remains unimpressed by his little provocation. “What is going on between you and Remus?“

“I don’t know what you mean.“

“Don’t play dumb with me. What happened between you two? You are angry with each other. What is going on?“

“It’s none of your business.“

“None of my – you are my best friends. You are my brother-in-law.“

Sirius shrugs. “Is it a real marriage if you didn’t consummate? The title holds little value.“

“Do I need to sleep with your brother before you tell me what moves you? Is that where we’re at, Sirius?“

Regulus wouldn’t necessarily mind. Sirius would, apparently. He grimaces in disgust.

“Did you or did you not have an affair?“ James asks finally.

“An affair,“ Sirius scoffs. “Une liaison!“ He jumps up from the sofa as if the very thought offended him. “Dirty, mindless affair? That's what you think? Is that what it was? Just lust and filth? No more than that? If you ask him,  probably! According to him, that is all it was – just a fucking meaningless affair of convenience!“

James throws a glance of confusion towards Regulus.

Regulus switches to French. “Sirius, calm down.“

“I am calm!“ He yells.

“Sit down. Tell us the entire story.“

“Why? So you have a laugh?“

“James is worried. And you and Lupin keep ruining my dinners.“

Sirius scoffs. “Good to know how much my happiness matters to you, Mon petit.“

“Well, it cannot be that important, can it? If it truly bothered you that much, you would tell us about it. If there is no reason to talk, it couldn’t have been that monumental.“

James stares at him like he lost his mind.

“Not monumental?“ Sirius yells in rage. “It’s the most monumental thing to have ever happened to me! I am in ruins! That man shattered my heart into little pieces and pushed me into the shards head first! I am standing in front of you, broken and bleeding, and no one in this godforsaken house even cares!“ Hot tears form in his eyes. He rubs at his face, but one escapes and runs down his reddened cheeks.

He huffs and flings himself back on the sofa.

“Of course, we care,“ James says gently. He stands up and slowly takes a seat next to Sirius, where he pulls him into a hug. “Of course, we care. Remus cares, too.“

Sirius laughs dryly.

James squeezes him in his arms. Regulus stays seated where he is, watching.

“Should I tell you what he told me about it? He is a mess that he hurt you and ruined it with you.“

“He’s not,“ Sirius insists. “You don’t understand, James – you couldn’t understand what it feels like to be rejected like that. I told him I loved him, and it couldn’t have mattered less. I told him I loved him, and he acted like I said the sky was green; Weird and wrong, yet trivial.“

“I, of all people, don’t know what rejection feels like? Are you sure?“

“It’s not the same. Your parents love you. You know that you are lovable despite Lily not wanting to be your wife.“

No, James doesn’t fully understand. Regulus does. Regulus knows what Sirius means. They are raised in the knowledge of not being loved – or even liked. They were always unworthy of their parents' time and attention. And if they couldn’t love them or bear their existence, then who could?

“One has nothing to do with the other. Your parents are awful people. That doesn’t say anything about romance,“ James insists because he can’t understand.

Regulus stands up. He walks over to the pair and puts his hand on James‘ shoulder. “You should go to bed. I will talk to him.“

“No, I-“

“James. I did not ask.“

James looks at him with an expression that Regulus doesn’t want to be directed at him. Finally, he squeezes Sirius again before standing up and leaving the room.

Sirius looks up with tear-stained cheeks. Regulus takes James‘ spot next to his brother. He leans his head against his shoulder. Sirius sobs and wraps his arms around him.

“If not him, then who?“ Sirius chokes out. “We had so much. I thought we had so much, and still – if he can’t love me after all of that, who could?“

“I know,“ Regulus whispers. “I know. It's not your fault.“

“He doesn’t even know what he did,“ Sirius cries into his hair. “He has no idea what he made me feel, what he turned me into. If he can’t even love me, I’m left just an unlovable, immoral man with nothing to show for himself in life.“ 

“You have me,“ Regulus reminds him, knowing it would only be a small consolation.

“And if James rejected you? What would you do?“

“Fuck Barty on his dinner table and kill myself.“ He shrugs. “But I am the bad and scary one. …what would you tell me if I bound my self-worth to a man’s opinion and called myself unlovable?“

Sirius hesitates, pushing his wet face into Regulus' curls. “I’d call you stupid.“

“Exactly. And you’d be right to do so, too. Now, a sane person would tell you to have a conversation with the man.“

“But you’re not sane.“

“And far from it,“ Regulus agrees. “I cannot convince James of your point or your feelings because he will never truly understand how we grew up. But I will tell him to make you and Remus talk – that is where his capabilities lie.“

“I don’t want to talk. Every word out of his mouth is like a shot to the heart. He has too much power over me. …I feel worthless in his mere presence. Isn’t it mad? He made me feel on top of the world, and now I am crushed beneath it.“

Regulus considers his brother a very emotional person by nature. Yet, he has scarcely seen him this distraught.

“What has  he said to you?“

“ He called it nonsense. I confessed my love to him after we’ve been together for years – after promising to give my body exclusively to him, I told him I loved him, and he sent me out of his room, claiming I talked nonsense.”

Regulus frowns. He always considered Remus Lupin a reasonable man of sound decision-making (apart from starting an affair with Sirius in the first place.)

“Is there a reason he said that?”

“What reason could make it better? There is no point in searching for reason.”

“The reason doesn’t have to make it better. It just has to exist to give you a peace of mind. I’ll ask James. He might know.”

Sirius hugs him tighter. “Will you think less of me if I leave? I don’t know how much longer I can be in his presence.”

“Don’t leave,” Regulus whispers, knowing it was selfish. “Stay just a bit longer. I can make Lupin disappear.”

Sirius shakes his head. He kisses his temple. “What if I go insane?”

“You already are. You will fit in with the rest of us.” Regulus smiles at him. “You should go to bed. You are drunk, and we want to go hunting in the morning. I need you to occupy James, or he will make sure Barty has a hunting accident.”

Sirius sighs deeply. He sniffs and drags his sleeve over his face. “Tell me you are luckier with your romance.”

“I don’t know yet.”

“If it doesn’t work out, you and I will simply leave the country and forget about stupid English men.” He stands up. “Bonne nuit, frèrot.”

Before going to his bedroom, Regulus walks down the corridor until he reaches James’ chambers.

“Yes?” James calls when he knocks.

Regulus opens the door and steps in. Strangely, he has never been in James’ bedroom before. James has been in his many times. The room resembles the chambers they shared at Lion’s Keep. James is already in his sleeping clothes. The morning robe hangs open, and the top is not buttoned as high as it could have been. As if Regulus needed another push towards insanity, the man is practically flaunting his body with the bits of visible clavicle and the V-shaped depression at the base of his neck. He wonders briefly whether he could make James look like Barty did last night.

“Reg?”

Regulus comes back to himself and looks at James’ face instead of his slutty clothes.

“Did you eavesdrop?” He asks.

James looks away from him and sways from side to side, trying to look unbothered. “No.”

“James.”

“Okay, I tried. But the only thing less comprehensible than French is quiet, fast French.”

“Good.” He tries a smile. His eyes fall on the exposed skin again. “You should make them talk.”

“Sirius and Remus?”

“Yes. They won’t do it on their own. You’re their friend. You need to force them. They might actually communicate while you are present. Not successfully, but not even you are such a miracle man.”

James smiles softly. “I will talk to Remus tomorrow when we come back from hunting. I can make them talk.”

“Good.” He throws one last glance at James. It isn’t even the first time he sees him in pyjamas, but it feels far more intimate here, in his private chambers than at Lion’s Keep when they slept just breaths apart. “I should go. Good night.”

“Wait,” James says before Regulus even touched the door handle.

He turns to him again. “Yes?” His voice sounds too hopeful to his own ears.

James nervously bites his lip until it is pink and wet. Maybe this is what he learned from the Parisian brothels Sirius took him to.

Regulus raises an eyebrow in expectation. There is no rush, though. He can stand here for an hour, looking at this man, while he searches for his words.

James clears his throat. “Good Night.”

Regulus keeps his disappointment to himself. Searching for an excuse to stay a bit longer in this room, he remembers the ring he is wearing. He slips his fingers beneath his collar, James’ eyes follow him. He tucks the necklace out of the corset and the shirt until he can pull it over his head. “I won this for you yesterday. Remember?” He carefully walks up to him and places the ring in James’ hand. “Bonne nuit,” he whispers and returns to the door.

“Reggie,” James stops him yet again.

“Yes, James?”

“I just- You… You look very handsome today, in case I haven’t told you.” Curiously, he has told him repeatedly. “Very handsome. The dinner jacket brings out your eyes. You have lovely eyes, did you know? I’d like to see you in that tiara again, but like this, this time.”

Regulus looks at him, surprised. James blushes lightly under his gaze. Daringly, Regulus interprets this ramble as flirting. Or the insanity has taken hold.

“Thank you, James. I’m afraid your current state of undress must prevent me from complimenting you in return. Imagine the scandal.”

“Well, we’re married, so…”

“Not by carnal law, as Sirius pointed out.”

James blushes even more. Regulus tries to suppress a chuckle – unsuccessfully.

“Good night, sunshine.” He opens the door and even more daringly adds, “Dream of me, will you?”

And if he is not insane, he hears James whisper, “I always do,” before he closes the door.

Chapter Text

“ ‘Oh Réné,’ said she, ‘what must you think of me?’ ‘That you love me dearly,’ quoth he; ‘do you not?’ ‘Yes, indeed; not wisely, but too well.’ “ Teleny 59

In the morning, James, Regulus, Barty, and Sirius hunt in the nearby woods. Remus never quite understood the joy aristocrats find in it.

Surprisingly, all four returned, and neither James nor Barty sustained an injury.

After their return to the house, the men take their luncheon outside. James asks him to meet him in the library after.

Remus is an intelligent man. He knows what is coming. He is aware that even James caught on to Sirius and his behaviour at this point.

“You wished to see me, my Lord,” Remus says when he meets James in the library.

James sits in the reading corner, inspecting one of Lord Regulus’ mystery novels. “Remus, sit with me. Let us speak as friends.”

Reluctantly, Remus sits down. He doesn’t want this conversation to happen. James knows too much of his past as it is.

“You remember how you told me the story of the ring and your lover who put you in prison?”

Remus grasps the fabric of his trousers.

“You said the name of your new lover doesn’t matter. You don’t think it mattered that it was Sirius?”

“Neither as my friend nor my employer did I want you to know. It is as simple as that.”

“Why not?”

“Because he is your friend, and I knew you would insist on trying to fix it. There is no fixing it. It is over. Things are said and done. It cannot be changed.”

“You could forgive each other. You could understand each other and find back to what you had before.”

“We can’t,” Remus states matter-of-factly.

James sighs. “I spoke with Sirius yesterday.”

“I assumed as much. So, has he told you of my horrible transgressions?”

“Regulus sent me out of the room after a while, so I do not have the full story. Sirius said, he told you he loved you and felt it didn’t matter to you at all. He feels rejected and unlovable, Remus. He thinks you don’t care and that you saw your union as nothing but lust and convenience. I know that isn’t true.”

No, it is not. But what does it matter now? Remus bites his tongue.

“Listen to me, my friend,” James switches his seat and takes the place beside him. “Love is real. You are capable of love. You are worthy of love. And Sirius loves you. …if you just explained about the other man, what he said, what you went through, Sirius will understand and forgive you.”

Remus's body aches from nights spent sleeping on the cold floor of his room because his bed is forever soiled.

“He has told you how hurt he is,” Remus says darkly, “Has he told you what he said to me?” He looks at James. “Has he told you what he did since coming here?”

James blinks at him, confused. “I thought you didn’t talk.”

“Oh, we did talk. He talked.” Remus pushes himself up from the sofa. “While telling you how awful I am, has he told you how he fucked Oscar Wilde and one of your cousins on my bed? Has he told you how he laughed at me after?”

“He- what?” James stutters, bewildered.

“Has he fucking told you how he said he gets sick when he looks at me? Has he told you all the things he said and done to punish me? How he wants to punish me? He cried to you last night? Well, to me, he said, he doesn’t love me; it was a lapse in judgement. To me, he said that when the thought of him touching me makes me cry and vomit, then I’ve earned the right to be upset with him!” Remus is yelling at this point. His face is burning hot, and his eyes burn with tears.

“He hasn’t mentioned any of that to me, no,” James whispers. “He doesn’t know how to deal with his emotions any better than you, Remus. He is lashing out. It isn’t okay. Of course not. But if you two just talked it out… you are both hurt, but I believe you can come back from that if-“

“He called me Scarface,” Remus says sharply. “Scarface. Not just once.”

Not even James can let this slide. His expression turns from empathetic to shocked. “He what?”

“He forgot that part, did he? That’s what I thought.” He puts his hands on the backrest of an armchair. “You see, it is pointless. How are we to return from this? Fenrir was right: I can’t have love. The one man who might have loved me, I pushed away until his hatred for me made him say things he would have gutted others for. He wanted me to feel this way. He wanted to punish me until every memory of us was tainted. And he did. …I was never good enough for his love, but I didn’t think I could inspire such hatred. If he is as hurt by me as I am by him, we can’t come back from that. Not even that precious love you are so obsessed with can make this better.”

James shakes his head slowly. “There is nothing that gives Sirius the right to call you by that name. Nothing. …It feels wrong to argue in his cause after what you told me, but-“

“Then don’t.”

“But you cannot go on like this. It is killing both of you. Personally, I believe you should give love another chance, but above all, you need to have a conversation.”

“You don’t think I tried that? I tried to talk to him. I tried to explain. He won’t let me. Whenever I get him alone and start talking, he lashes out at me.”

“He won’t when I’m there. I won’t let him. But he needs to know why you didn’t reciprocate his love declaration. Either you tell him, or I will. Give me permission, and I will tell him in private.”

“To what end?”

“Understanding. Truce. …Peace, Remus. You are both my best friends. What am I to do? Never invite Sirius again? Fire you? I won’t do either. If I banned Sirius, Regulus would leave, too. He doesn’t love you as I do. He won’t support a decision like that.”

“Then fire me.”

“No.” He leaves no room for discussion on this.

“Okay. Still, it is not your story to tell. It is none of your business, any of it. I can only promise to do my best not to let the situation further impact your life. I doubt it can ever be resolved until Sirius finds someone else to love.”

James gives him a long look. “He won’t. Don’t you know?”

Remus bites his lip, turns and leaves the room.

***

James is angry.

He has never been this angry with Sirius. He has never been this angry with anyone he called a friend.

After Remus told him about what Sirius said yesterday afternoon, he couldn’t even look at Sirius with the same eyes anymore. Sirius lashes out when he is hurt. This isn’t new. But to hit Remus where it hurts without any regard is too far.

He wants to respect Remus’ wish and his decision to handle it on his own – but he can’t. Remus should know him well enough to know he can’t.

How is James supposed to concentrate on his own romance and Regulus if his friends are suffering right in front of him? Sirius is family - by law, even. Remus is family by sentiment. He cannot let this go on.

He is currently sitting outside with Sirius and Regulus, drinking tea with these thoughts circling his head.

“Where is Barty?” Sirius asks, unbothered.

“He wanted to go into town to post some letters," Regulus says.

“He could have given them to Lupin, no?” Sirius says the name like it means nothing. The anger is boiling inside of James.

“He wanted to do it personally. Also, he likes to demand Rosier to bring him down to the Pot. He hopes to get, as he says, ‘lucky’ when he does so.”

Sirius hums. “Do you understand what is going on between those two?”

“I do not understand the relationships of anyone in this house, Sirius.”

Sirius smirks and shakes his head. How can he act so unbothered? How can he smirk and joke right now as if he didn’t break down crying in his arms just days before?

“Barty is mad,” Sirius says. “You have a curious taste in friends, frèrot.”

“That’s enough!” James snaps. The brothers look at him, surprised. “How can you sit here and act like all is well, Sirius?”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Remus.”

Sirius’ expression turns cold in an instant. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Stop playing the victim. I know what you did. I know what you said.”

Regulus looks from one to the other, confused. “What did he say? When?”

“To Remus. Multiple times. What did you say to him, Sirius, huh? Care to repeat it in front of your brother? Care to repeat it in front of me?”

It seems to dawn on Sirius what James is talking about. “That is none of your-“

“Yes. Yes, it is. You are my friends. Both of you. But I will not let you insult him like this. What has got into you?”

Regulus leans closer to James. “Will you clue me in or no? Should I pretend to leave?”

Sirius ignores his brother. “He hurt me. I only retaliated-“

“That wasn’t retaliation, Sirius. That was betrayal. If you were any other man, I would break your nose for this. Fuck, if any other man had said it, you would have broken his spine for this!”

Sirius bites his lip. “I know… I just – He- I needed to punish him.”

“And fucking two men in his bed during Regulus’ ball wasn’t enough?”

“Quoi?” Regulus pipes up. “Sirius. Beurk.”

Sirius looks at him and says in pointed French, “Transgressions are not mended by sorry. They are only mended by punishment.”

James looks at Regulus, too. The phrase makes no sense to him. From Regulus’ look of understanding, he can only gather that this must have been a rule in their house.

“What is that supposed to mean? Remus hurt you –out of genuine personal reasons if I might add – and in response, you punish him in the fashion of your mother? Are you genuinely insane?”

“Yes,” Sirius spits. “Yes, because of him. Because he made me feel like my mother has countless times! He reminded me of who I truly am – her son. And that one cannot be loved.”

“You are talking nonsense, Sirius. As much as he hurt you, you are in the wrong here. Can’t you see that?”

Sirius just glares at him. He doesn’t do it even half as well as Regulus.

“Remus at least had a reason, no matter whether it makes you feel better or not. You’re just acting like a maniac because you got hurt.”

“Fuck you,” Sirius growls and stands up.

He can’t just leave. Those two need to know how the other feels. They need to hear it from each other, or they will never be able to move forward.

“No,” James jumps up and grabs Sirius’ arm. “You’re not just leaving. You’re coming with me.”

James is several times stronger than Sirius and manages to drag the man downstairs to Remus’ office despite the fight he puts up.

Remus stands up when James enters. His eyes grow wide when he sees Sirius being dragged in after him.

James pulls the door shut, standing in front of it to prevent Sirius from running out. The men stand at opposite sides of the room.

“Go on, Remus, tell him”, James demands. “Tell him what happened in London. Tell him about Fenrir.”

“Who is Fenrir?” Sirius asks.

“No one. It doesn’t matter. I won’t tell you anything. You lost any right to stories from my life.”

“Good,” Sirius spits. “I don’t want to know anyway. No reason could be good enough for what you have done.”

“For what I’ve done? What have I done, Sirius? I haven’t done anything.”

“You have shattered my heart!” Sirius exclaims desperately, making a half-step into the room. “You shattered me as if it was nothing – as if I meant nothing to you!”

“Not everything is about you! How often do I have to tell you that?”

“Fuck off. Of course, it is about me. It is about us. And whatever reasons you might have had, you would have told me about them instead of just sending me away and saying, I’m talking nonsense.”

“You never gave me the chance to talk about it! You left!”

“You sent me away.”

“I sent you out of my room. You left. You wouldn’t talk to me. And when I tried talking to you, you punished me.” Remus sounds like he is close to tears.

Sirius says nothing.

James looks from one friend to the other. They yell desperately at each other like they wanted to do this for weeks.

“You never let me explain-“ Remus stops himself. He laughs dryly. “No. You’re right. It wouldn’t have mattered. Because do you know what I would have said to you? I would have said to you that love isn’t real. I would have said that I learned that day that love isn’t real, that I can’t have love. And that, ultimately, your confession means either nothing or pain. And you know what it meant, Sirius? Pain.”

“You brought this pain on yourself. I never intended to hurt you until you hurt me.”

“I never intended to hurt you at any point.”

“That doesn’t take away from the fact that you did. That doesn’t make it better, Remus. Maybe it makes mine worse, but it doesn’t make yours better. Do you understand? I knew you well enough - I know you inside and out. I knew when you sent me away that you did not love me. That it is all meaningless, all pointless. You didn’t have to say it. I understood. Am I the bad one because I didn’t want to hear it out of your mouth?”

“You know what you are the bad one for,” Remus’ voice is quiet again. He took several steps back like Sirius’ words were gunshots directed at him.

“You brought this on yourself. You brought my behaviour on yourself.”

“Can you never take responsibility for anything?”

“You’re not taking responsibility either. Will you even acknowledge what you’ve done to me?”

“What about what happened to me? What about what was done to me in my life that brought me here – that made me vulnerable to you and your words?”

James steps away from the door and between them. “Boys, please. You’re speaking in riddles. How do you expect either one of you to understand the other?”

“Oh, fuck you, James!” Sirius curses. “Fuck you and your problem-solving!”

James ignores him. “Remus, tell him about Fenrir. Tell him now.”

He stares at him for a long time, hesitating. Sirius scoffs.

Remus swallows heavily. “When I was young and living in London,” he starts, “I fell in love with a man named Fenrir. He used me. He mistreated me. I was in love with him and thought he was in love with me. He sold me to the police and testified against me in court. And when we were in London, I met him and learned all the details of it. He told me that love isn’t really, especially for men of my standing.” He stops. His mouth hangs open like he needs to say more, but he doesn’t get his mouth around the words like he is choking on pure air. “And I- I could not help but believe him ...because how else could he – who I considered my first great love – hurt me like that? Testifying against me was one thing. I thought he wanted to save his own skin. But he sold my name to the police in the first place. – And your confession came just hours later.”

Sirius doesn’t look at him. He turns completely away from him like the words would dissipate if he ignored the utterer.

The silence hangs heavy between them.

“Sirius,” James whispers, “this is the point where you explain your behaviour.”

A light sob escapes the man. “I thought you could love me.” Choked-up tears distort his voice. “I thought you loved me. I loved you. For the longest time, I thought that no one could ever love me - because I am my mother’s child – and not even she could do as much as like me. But I thought you.... you. ...But you didn’t! You don’t, do you? You can’t. And if you can’t, who could? No one. ...because I am who I was born as. And I am unlovable. That is what you showed me. That is what you reminded me of. – that is who you turned me into! Into the person, I did not want to be. The person, I tried my hardest not to be – for you! Because I wanted to be someone you would want.” His desperate tone suddenly switches, turning cold and hard. “But you showed me how fruitless it is, so why pretend? Why try to be better or someone that I’m not? Now, I am this again. Like you wanted. And I lash out, and I’m evil, and I say things I shouldn’t say and don’t mean... I do not believe in sorry. I believe in punishment.”

“You’re not being fair,” Remus chokes out. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. But you’re not being fair. You can’t pin this on me. I never wanted you to change. I never told you that you are unlovable. You’re not, I just-“

“It doesn’t matter!” Sirus interrupts him. “It is the soul that makes you beautiful or ugly, not skin and scars. And it is your actions that tell me what I am worth, not your words. And by your actions, I am nothing. And you don’t care-“

“I care! Sirius! I never cared about anyone as much as you. And you... treat me like this. You call me... all of that, and you punish me and punish me and punish me for things that I refuse to take responsibility for. Your parents' abuse is not my fault.”

“And your ex-lover's abuse is not mine. You don’t even know how you hurt me. You never cared to know me enough to see what this would do to me.”

“But you knew!” Remus yells. “You knew what those words meant. You knew how much you hurt me. And you did it anyway – you did it because you knew. That is the difference. That is why I will not take responsibility. I had no idea, and I never intended to hurt you, but you wanted me to suffer so much...” He chokes and sobs, “and now we both do. Is that what you wanted? Are you happy now?”

Sirius bites his lip harshly. He glances at Remus. His face is red and wet with tears.

“Did you get what you wanted? Is it enough punishment for my fucking transgression?”

Sirius’ bottom lip quivers. He turns on his heel and marches past James out of the room, throwing the door shut so hard that James wouldn’t have been surprised if the entire Manor shook with it.

James looks at Remus. His face is equally red and wet from crying.

“Remus...”

“Leave me!” Remus snaps. “You’re making it worse, James, can’t you see? What good did talking do, huh? Just leave me alone. Just leave us alone. Butt out. Take care of your own romance.”

“You are two of my best friends. I can’t leave you alone. I don’t want you to suffer.”

“Well, you’re too late for that. Just... just leave. Just stop.”

James looks at him for a long moment, watching the tears run down his face and soak the collar of his shirt. He nods slowly. “Okay. As you wish.”

“Yes, I fucking wish it.”

James presses his lips together and leaves the room. He goes back upstairs and finds Regulus still outside with his tea and a book.

“How did it go?” He asks when James sits with him.

“Uhm, not well. ...quite the opposite of well.”

“I assumed so. The emotions were already too high to begin with. Maybe you need to let them figure it out on their own for a while, Jamie.”

“It’s just hard to see them suffer...”

“I know. ... We can take your mind off it. Let us do something together.”

James hums, then perks up. “Yes, actually. I’d like to go to the theatre tonight if you like. The local theatre is putting on Hamlet.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Good, yes... After dinner?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” James smiles. “Without Barty, though.”

“Of course, without Barty. I told you I’m not taking him to the theatre anymore. Just you and I.”

“Right,” He smiles gently and moves his hand towards him, stopping halfway there, remembering to pace himself. “You and I.”

***

James takes Regulus out to eat in Lyopot instead of having dinner at the manor. Barty and Sirius will have dinner alone. Regulus points out how it is rather mean of them to cause further issues between Sirius and Remus and then leave them alone at home. He quickly adds how he doesn’t mind it at all.

They have dinner in warm candlelight, sitting rather removed from the other guests at the establishment. Regulus looks beautiful in the ensemble he chose for the theatre today. James wears the ring he won for him at cards.

The rendition of Hamlet isn’t the grandest or best they have ever seen, considering it is a small theatre, but Regulus is immersed in the plot nonetheless. His eyes sparkle every time James takes him to a play.

“I must admit, I don’t love Shakespeare,” James says when they leave.

“What? James, how dare you. He is one of the few good things your country ever produced.”

“Mean,” James smirks. “Should we walk back up to Lioncrest, or shall I organise a coach?”

“No, let us walk. It is a nice evening,” Regulus says, looking up at the clear sky dusted with gleaming stars.

“We should go stargazing some time,” James says quietly.

“That sounds lovely.” James offers him his arm, to which Regulus only gives him a look and gestures discreetly at the people surrounding them.

James sighs and starts leading him the way back home without touching him.

“So, what do you make of them? Sirius and Remus, I mean,” James asks when they start climbing the hill.

“When I first saw Sirius and Remus together, I knew they were in love.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It was quite obvious. You are just blind, sunshine. They were in love. …I didn’t think it could end so suddenly… and dramatically.” Regulus sighs. “It is scary, no? How much power love can hold over some people.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you wanted? The all-consuming, insane love that has absolute power over you?”

Regulus smiles to himself. “Yes. Wanting it does not make it less scary.”

James wants to give it to him. Oh, please, he wants to be the one to love him insanely and to be loved by him in the same manner. They will never break apart like Sirius and Remus.

James must court him accordingly. He will take Regulus’ advice – and Remus’ demand – and leave the men to their devices for now. He will concentrate his energy on making Regulus love him, then he will kiss him, and then they will be happy for the rest of their days.

***

Peter puts the ordinary cufflinks on James’ shirt in the morning.

“Pete, how is Remus?”

“How do you mean?”

“You must have seen him this morning already. Is he okay?”

“As okay as he can be, given the circumstances,” Peter says with annoying neutrality.

“How diplomatic of you. He’s in bad shape, isn’t he?”

“Well, you know Remus. He looks like he is barely holding it together on a good day. Didn’t have a good day in a while.”

James sighs. “I feel awful about the entire thing. There must be something we can do, as his friends, I mean.”

Peter hums. “May I speak out of turn, my Lord?”

“Pete, we’re friends. Speak.”

“You should leave him alone,” Peter says with no hesitation. “You cannot accomplish anything here. I do not know Lord Sirius very well, but I know Remus. If Lord Sirius is anywhere near as stubborn as him, there is nothing any of us can do.”

“I can’t just do nothing.”

Peter helps him into his jacket. “You must try. Or maybe do things in the background. Locking them into the room until they start snogging isn’t going to work.”

“I could try.”

Peter gives him a very out-of-turn look.

“Okay. Fine. I leave them alone.”

Another look. Maybe Peter knows him too well.

“I just want everyone to be happy.”

Peter nods. “I know. But maybe you should start with yourself. Remus and Lord Sirius are both hurt. They need space. Didn’t you want to court Lord Regulus?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I took him out for dinner and to the theatre last night. It was wonderful. I paid little attention to the play, for he was far more captivating. Oh, Pete, I’m so in love with him. I don’t know how I ever doubted my feelings for him.”

“Very good. What is your plan now?”

James squints at him. “Peter, are you having another bet going?”

“Several,” he says with a grin. “But I am no cheater, so I will not tell you the time frames I picked.”

James considers the possibility that he is being too friendly with the servants.

“So, plans?” Peter asks again and picks one of the deer-shaped cravat pins.

James looks at the little deer head, a curious gift from Regulus. “I need to make him a courting gift. Something big and monumental.”

“Why?”

James shrugs. “It is what one does. I need to make my intentions clear.”

“And words were out of stock?”

James frowns at him. This is a delicate matter. There are no words that match the cause.

“The problem is, usual courting gifts are chocolate or sweets. If one is serious, there may also be jewellery and presents of finer making.”

“Pardon, but I fail to see the problem.”

“I already gave Regulus all of those things. Jewellery, fine garments, evenings to the theatre and clubs... I need something special.” James sighs deeply. This is the issue with trying to court someone one already married. No matter what he gives him in terms of usual courting gifts, it will seem like all the other presents he has given so far. “I need something special.”

Peter laughs lightly. “I am glad I do not bother with love and the likes. It is entirely too much work for too little gain.”

“Too little gain? Peter, love is the greatest gain!”

“Not as great as days at the beach with feet stuck in the sand and a belly filled with cream.”

“And you don’t want to share that greatness?”

“I might want to share it with a good friend. Most likely of the canine variety, though, my Lord.”

James must admit it sounds lovely. Still, he’d rather have Regulus there with him.

James looks at himself in the mirror. What purpose do his arms even serve if they cannot be wrapped around Regulus? Isn’t his body made to be cuddled up to and slept on? Isn’t his chest moulded specifically for Regulus’ head to rest? Like his feet are made to dance with him, and the only purpose of his eyes is to look at him.

He rakes his hand through his hair and steps out of the dressing room. He straightens his glasses on the way through the corridor.

Regulus exits his chambers almost at the same time. He stops when he sees him and waits for him to catch up.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” James smiles and offers his arm. “Shall we go down together?”

Regulus rolls his eyes at him. “Dramatic idiot,” He mumbles and takes his arm nonetheless.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Very well, oui. Had very nice dreams. And you?”

“Me too.” He dreamt of Regulus all night. He dreamed about dancing in the music room and kissing him for hours. “What did you dream about?”

“Oh, Jamie, what a question,” Regulus gasps. “How scandalous it is to ask such a thing.”

James chuckles. “The question is only scandalous if the answer is, too.”

“If that is the case, I have even more reason to keep it a secret. I’m afraid I must insist on you letting your imagination run wild.”

James wonders if Regulus would say such things if he knew the nature of James’s wild imagination. It may include picturing Regulus sleeping and sweating in his bed, longing for James’ body next to him in his feverish slumber.

He knows they would fit together perfectly.

He doesn’t take his eyes off Regulus during breakfast. He is too perfect to look away. His hair was only curled for James to run his hands through them. His waist only exists for James to put his hands there. His lips were only formed by angel hands for James to press his mouth to them.

James needs this man biblically. He needs him in a way that could be reason enough to send him to an asylum.

Soon after breakfast, he finds Sirius outside by the flower gardens. He knows his brother best. He must have a good idea for a courting gift.

“You changed this,” Sirius says when he sees James approaching. “Does Euphemia know? She will be sad to see what you’ve done to her lily garden.”

“Mama has her own garden at Lion’s Keep. I like the roses.”

Sirius frowns at him. “Since when do you waste a thought on flowers?”

James shrugs. “You grow them at the Black Manor in Aquitaine,” he says as if it was the only explanation needed.

Really, they remind him of the first time he visited Sirius’ childhood home. He saw Regulus for the first time then, sitting on a blanket next to a singular flower patch and mindlessly rubbing pink petals between his fingers while reading Bel-Ami. He was only just coming into bloom himself at thirteen or fourteen years of age. He didn’t interest James at that age. Two years later, he saw him again. Regulus insulted him in French with words that would give James’ mother a heart attack. Then he ran off with soft waves falling out of his intricate hairstyle. ‘Your sister is very pretty,’ he said to Sirius then, which earned him a slap across the face and more cursing from his friend.

Given that reaction, maybe asking Sirius for advice on how to court Regulus wasn’t the best idea.

“I always hated them,” Sirius says, gesturing toward the flowers. “Roses in general, really. Regulus chose them. The gardener asked for his opinion, and he was in his ‘Beauty and the Beast’ phase at the time. He kept blabbering about waiting for the curse-breaking true love’s kiss. I never liked those fairytales.”

“I love the fairytales.” James shrugs. “And for the record, your brother has a lot of interesting things to say about them. We often read and share tales we know from childhood.”

Sirius sighs deeply. “I get it. You are oh-so perfect for each other. Haven’t you heard yet that love is dead?”

Another reason not to ask Sirius for courting advice. James decides to proceed anyway.

“Right… hey, for no particular reason, if you were to make Regulus a special gift – the most special gift – what would it be?”

Sirius frowns at him. “What?”

“I want to give him a present. I need ideas.”

“Why? His birthday just passed. Didn’t you give him a pocket watch?”

“Yes. In the course of our marriage, I gave him a pocket watch, a tiara, suits, and books. I need something big. Something he has always wanted but never had.”

Sirius frowns even deeper. “Why?”

James shrugs. “Just because. You know me. I like giving people presents.”

Sirius blinks at him, then shrugs. “You do. You are strange like that. Well, let me think… can you find a surgeon who will give him the body he wants?”

That exceeds even James’ understanding of a courting gift. He isn’t even entirely certain such a surgeon exists. “Not on short notice.”

“Well then… Regulus never wanted much in life. The few things he did want, he got because our father was doting on him when he was a portrait-pretty child.”

“Really? There is nothing your strict, evil parents denied him that he would love to have even now?”

Sirius looks up at the sky with his hands pushed deeply into his pockets and his long hair falling down his back. He is an attractive man. There is no denying it. James can see, from this angle, how Remus fell for him.

“Huh,” Sirius looks at him again. “One thing. When we were children, I think I was eleven, I learned how to pick locks from the handsome coachman. I showed Regulus my new skill and picked the lock to the garden shed and-“

“And you found kittens inside,” James remembers the story. “He wanted to keep them, but they died, and your parents never let you have any.”

“Yes, exactly. He was crying for days and days, the poor thing. We held a little funeral for the kittens and put bits of cheese on their graves because of their names.” He laughs to himself. “Regulus insisted on only wearing black for the rest of the month. Our mother never let him have a pet, no matter how much he begged. Even when my father agreed, she wouldn’t let it happen.”

James smiles. “Do you think he would be happy about having a cat now?”

“Probably. I think cats make stupid pets. I always wanted a dog. Maybe I should get a dog. At least a dog would love me.”

Sirius laughs at himself. James carefully extends his hand and touches his shoulder. “I love you. Reggie loves you.”

“We both know it’s not the kind of love I mean. You can’t substitute it.”

“I know… if there is anything I can do to help you, just say the word.” James has rarely felt as helpless as with Sirius and Remus. He wants to help so badly, but he doesn’t know how – and everyone else tells him to leave them alone. “Would you like me to get you a dog?”

Sirius giggles and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know how to care for it anyway. I move around too much. Isn’t it funny? For a moment there, I thought with Regulus, you, and Remus here, I could move in, too, and never have to leave this place again. Now, I can barely stand in it. It is like Paradise tilted and shifted until it revealed itself hell.” He moves the tip of his shoe through the roses.

 James refrains from saying anything. He has no words to make it better. He wraps his arms around his friend and hugs him tightly.

***

Chapter Text

“But a criminal kiss long withstood and fought against, and therefore long yearned after, is beyond this; it is as luscious as forbidden fruit; it is a glowing coal set upon the lips; a fiery brand that burns deep, and changes the blood into molten lead or scalding quicksilver” Teleny 111

Regulus is sitting in his favourite spot in the library. He has a beautiful view over the flower garden – James had roses planted, which remind Regulus of Aquitaine in the nicest way – and the sun is hitting him enough for warmth but not enough to cast an annoying shadow over the page of his book. He is running out of murder mysteries to read, so he turned to the book he always takes up when nothing else feels compelling: The Count of Monte Cristo. He has started it multiple times in several different languages. There are passages he knows by heart, yet he never found the patience to finish it.

‘When you compare the sorrows of real life to the pleasures of the imaginary one, you will never want to live again, only to dream forever.’ Regulus sighs. “Oh, Monsieur Dumas, you knew what you were talking about,” he mumbles to himself.

Pleasures of the imaginary life are plenty. In his imaginary life, James takes him by the hand and leans to him until their cheeks touch before whispering, “Oh, Regulus, how I have loved you from the very first moment.”

Given recent events, Regulus is more inclined to believe that his carefully crafted dream world is not as far out of reach as it had seemed. From the way James insists on spending their evenings alone to the continued emergence of the topic of love. There can’t be too many explanations for James to say what he says and do what he does. If a young man dares to hope, he will hope James Potter harbours tender feelings for him and needs not much longer to express his romance in the ways of fairytales. He keeps thinking of the notion of “Tue Love’s Kiss” and cannot find the cynicism to call himself silly for it.

Once again, his mind wanders away from Edmond Dantès. As interesting as the plot was, Dumas could never hold Regulus’ attention well. Instead, he thinks of James. The kind smile that Regulus wants to have shined on him every day. James, how he says, ‘Isn’t that exactly what you wanted? The all-consuming, insane love that has absolute power over you?’ while walking up the hill to Lioncrest because he remembers and pays attention when Regulus speaks and tells him of silly writing and old pastimes.

The sound of the door in the front room of the library pulls him back to the sorrows of real life.

James peeks his head into the second room as if pulled to him by the power of his mind alone. He smiles when he sees him.

“There you are.”

“Here I am. Did you search for me?”

“I would have if you hadn’t been in the very first place I assumed you to be.” He steps into the room, carrying a large basket covered with a blue cloth. “I have something for you.”

“For me?” Regulus asks, frowning at the basket.

“Yes. A present. Sit up.”

Regulus does as told. “What for? My birthday just passed.”

“I know. Maybe I wish to shower you with gifts every day. Who will stop me?”

“Not me.”

James sits next to him, placing the basket between them. “I would have got this to you sooner, but it was not an easy task to find it.”

Regulus is genuinely puzzled over what James might have brought him. He carefully pulls the cloth aside. He barely trusts his eyes when he sees what James has hidden there.

Little balls of fur sit inside, looking curiously at their surroundings. An embarrassingly high sound escapes Regulus. They are kittens. Three tiny kittens. Two are of a dark grey or brown. They crouch beside one another, looking around nervously. The third one is of an orange colouring and is more inclined to move and explore than its siblings. He wobbles to the edge of the basket and mewles in a cry for attention.

Regulus’s heart about leaps out of his chest at the sight. James gifted him kittens. Regulus wants to kiss him until he runs out of air.

“Are you pleased?” James whispers.

Regulus looks up at him. “Pleased? Sunshine, this is the greatest gift anyone has ever made me. Thank you. Thank you.”

James smiles warmly and leans his head against the backrest of the sofa.

Regulus reaches into the basket, holding out his hand to the kittens. The kittens sniff his fingers. The dark ones seem unsure of him. They are shy and a bit skittish, judging by one of them getting up and wobbling behind the other to hide.

The orange one, on the other hand, easily trusts him. He waddles over to him and rubs his tiny face against his hand, demanding to be petted. Regulus scoops the little thing up into his hands, which he lets happen without complaint. Regulus presses him to his chest and kisses his head.

“He likes you,” James says.

“He is very trusting and not shy at all,” Regulus whispers. “He is a bit like you, no?”

James chuckles. “Does that mean there is a chance you will hold me like that?”

Yes. Regulus cannot ascertain whether James would genuinely like it. Regulus kisses the head of the kitten again.

“Do you want to hold him? I think you will be great friends.” He leans over the basket and places the orange kitten in James’ hands. It looks even tinier by comparison. “Trop mignon.”

Regulus picks up another kitten, which protests with high-pitched mewles. “It’s okay, little one. You will have to get used to me, non? You will stay with me all your life. That is exciting, no? Oui, very exciting.” He chuckles and cuddles the kitten to his chest. The third one now tries to climb the edge of the basket, evidently not liking being alone inside. Regulus picks him up and puts the basket on the ground.

“Do you know what to name them?” James asks. The orange kitten looks very satisfied with being in James’s large hands. It doesn’t take long for him to stand up nonetheless and wander around, trying to climb James’ arm.

“Not yet. I need to think about it. It is a very important decision.”

“Just don’t name them after cheese again,” James grins.

“Wine this time?”

“No, please don’t.” James chuckles and raises his hands until he is at eye level with the kitten. The little one is elated by flying through the air. “It is time for you to return to your papa, I’m afraid. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure he won’t give you a stupid name.” He hands the kitten back to Regulus, who now has the three of them on his body. One in his lap, one in his hand, and the orange one is trying to climb up his arm.

“They are so tiny,” Regulus coos. “Aren’t they too young to be taken from their mother?”

“The mother cat had five kittens but only cared for two of them, completely ignoring and neglecting these three. The owners raised them until they decided they were ready to give away. They gave me a letter with instructions for you.” He takes an envelope from his jacket and places it in the basket.

“Aw, poor babies. Your parents didn’t want you? You fit perfectly in this house, then. And so typical for you to take in the outcasts, Jamie.”

“Anything to see you as happy as this,” he says softly.

Anything? Then kiss me. Regulus pushes the thought aside. He wants him so badly. Please, he just wants him. He wants to lie in his arms while he plays with the kittens and be gently kissed by him when he reads about the Count of Monte Cristo.

He must like him romantically. No one would go up and beyond and acquire three kittens for someone they don’t adore. Hopefully.

***

Regulus took half of his study and a part of his bedroom and turned them into spaces for the kittens. He doesn’t trust their little legs and over-curious minds not to get lost or injured in this big house. He sometimes takes them out for slow exploration sessions, carrying them to one of the rooms in the basket and letting them roam freely inside it. Today, they are getting to know the drawing room. The orange kitten is fascinated by fireplaces and frequently walks into them until he is as black as his siblings. Regulus extinguished the fire when he entered the drawing room and now guards the still-hot area so the little one won’t burn his tiny paws.

Barty finds him eventually and joins him. The orange cat likes everyone, even Barty. The other two are still shy around anyone who isn’t Regulus.

“Do they have names by now?” Barty asks while trying to lure Icare with treats.

Regulus picks up the orange kitten when he waddles up to the fireplace yet again. “This one is Hélios. I named him after the Greek God of the sun. He reminds me of James.” He smiles fondly at the kitten and sets him down in his lap to pet him.

“Of James? Why? Does he want to bed you?”

“Barty. Do not be disgusting. They are babies. No, he reminds me of James because he is adventurous and, well, a little stupid. He jumps first and thinks later. If he thinks at all, I am not so sure of that. But he is very trusting and lovable. He likes everyone and everything. He is a little sunshine, like Jamie.”

Barty rolls his eyes dramatically. “And this one who refuses to be nice to me?”

“Icare. Named after Icarus. He always follows Hélios around and gets into trouble. He is brilliant on his own and should know better, but, alas, he is obsessed with the sun.”

“Ah, so you named him after yourself.” Barty picks up Icare. “Have you heard, troublemaker? You are named after Regulus, so you must be the one out of the bunch to like me the most. Those are the rules.” Icare starts gnawing on his finger. Barty accepts it with a shrug and pets his head. “And the third one?”

Regulus spots the kitten investigating a chess piece on the ground. “Thanatos. Like the Greek God of Death.”

“Why?”

“Because I am dramatic.” Regulus smiles at him. “Anyway, what brought you here? Did you want to play with the babies?”

“Well, my entire life revolves around you, so I came to ask whether you finally kissed James.”

“No.”

“Still nothing? He bought you a bunch of kittens.”

“I know. He is perfect, no?”

“Sure. What more do you need?”

“I’m waiting for him to kiss me.” Regulus shrugs.

Barty sighs deeply and looks at the kitten. “Are you as stupid as him? Reg, mate, James is clearly in love with you-“

“By your theory.”

“By my knowledge. If he doesn’t get his shit together and kisses you, you must do it.”

“But what if he doesn’t kiss me because he does not want to? Huh? I could ruin everything.”

Barty gives him a long, tired look. “Wow, I just remembered I actually do have a life, and now we will talk about that before I strangle you for being stupid. You’re supposed to be the intelligent one in this house. I know we’re not making it hard, but you could still make an effort.” He sets Icare back on the ground. The kitten mewels unhappily in response. “What? Make a choice: do you want cuddles or not?” The kitten mewles again and slams its tiny claws into his trousers. Barty takes him back up again.

“Well, talk,” Regulus says, setting Hélios down by Thanatos. “What has Rosier done now?”

Barty bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s not about him. …My mother has been sending me more money than usual.”

Regulus looks at him, confused. “Félicitations?”

“No. I worry.”

“About what?”

“Her. Something is off. I can feel it. …Her letters get shorter, too, like there is something she won’t tell me and is writing around.”

“If you want to go and see her, you can take the carriage, or I can give you money for a train-“

“I can’t,” Barty interrupts him. He bites the inside of his cheek again and absentmindedly pets the kitten. “I’m banned from the house, remember? I have to send my letters to a café my mother frequents because my father said if as much as a postcard in my name reaches his house, I will lose my inheritance, too. It is not that I care for the money more than my mother, but if I lose it, I will be left with nothing to my name for the rest of my life, and I can’t rely on you helping me out forever.”

“You can,” Regulus assures him when he can’t think of anything else to say. “Did you write to her and ask whether she is okay?”

“Of course, I have. She could be taking her dying breath and write to me she is healthy and in good spirits. …I can’t even concentrate on Evan being awful to me. It affects me too much.”

Regulus hums. Curiously, Regulus knows people like himself and his brother who hate both their parents. He knows those who love their parents with all their hearts, like James. Yet, he has scarcely met a man whose hate for one parent runs as deep as their affection for the other. Regulus likes his father better than his mother, but his resentment for his passive nature, granting his wife all ill-conceived methods of conduct with his children, runs deep. He thinks he might be sad should he ever receive news of his death, but it would not distress him.

“Do you wish the Viscountess to write to your family inquiring about your mother’s health?” Regulus asks. “I could invite her for a Luncheon so you could see her.”

“I don’t consider my father a man of abundant intelligence, but he is not as stupid as to not see the true motive behind inviting her here. ... Although if you could write to her... I don’t know whether she would be truthful to you, but...” Barty is seldom as soft-spoken as this.

“I will write to her immediately,” He promises.

***

It is a few days later that Regulus sits over Baroness Crouch’s answer at his desk. She said many things that amounted to a stunning pile of nothing. The same sensation Barty described of her writing around something comes to him.

James announces himself with a knock on the door.

“I wanted to see how you are,” James says. “You seemed uneasy this morning when you read your letters.”

Regulus hums. “It is from Barty’s mother.”

“What does she say?” James steps over a small barrier that keeps the kittens in their own space and sits with them.

“Nothing at all. I will show this to Barty later. I hoped to see something in it I could tell him, but I am none the wiser.” He sighs and decides to sit beside James on the floor.

“How are the kittens?”

“Very well. They grow so quickly, no? It is almost sad.”

James smiles and offers his hands to the kittens to climb on him. “I think they are still sufficiently tiny.”

“Everything looks tiny in your hands, James. Hélios climbed over the barrier for the first time yesterday. Now, of course, Icare needs to try as well. Just Thanatos is smarter. He simply cries for me to pick him up instead of climbing things.”

“Should you indulge him?”

“Should you lecture me on how I raise my cats?”

James chuckles and rubs Hélios’s cheek. “I wouldn’t dare, of course.”

The other two come running to them when they see Hélios getting pampered. Regulus was right to say that Hélios and James were alike. They are each other's favourites now.

Icare tries to climb Regulus’ leg while Thanatos, the black and smallest of the bunch, puts his little paws on his foot and screams at the top of his lungs. Regulus smiles and picks him up.

Regulus feels James’ burning gaze on him while he lets Icare climb him and gently rubs Thanatos’ fur. He glances up to find James smiling at him.

Hélios has evidently had enough of James’ cuddles – Regulus is convinced he is the dumb one of the litter – and now proceeds to climb up his arm and munch on his jacket.

“Are you a cat, or are you a little tiger, huh?” James says gently but lets the kitten bite away. Peter might have to mend the fabric later. “Are they all such climbers?”

“Only these two. Thanatos would never over-exercise himself. When I put them on my bed to sleep, he has a habit of sleeping on my chest. The other two roam around the bed for hours, and Hélios tries to climb down the bedframe.”

“You sleep with them?” James asks curiously.

“Of course I do. They are babies, James. They can’t be left alone at night.” Regulus looks at him like he is stupid. “I need a little staircase, I think. One for the kittens to walk up to the bed. Then they can also learn to climb stairs.”

“Anything you want,” James says, scooting closer to him until their shoulders brush together. “I will send for the carpenter immediately.”

James extends his hand towards Thanatos, who turns away uninterested. Regulus is the only human he truly tolerates.

James pouts when the kitten ducks away and leans his little body into his hand. Regulus chuckles.

James pouts even harder and lifts his head to look at him. They are only a breath apart, Regulus realises. James stares at him with sun-warm eyes behind his golden-rimmed glasses. His lips have the colour of darkish pink, like red wine. Regulus wants to taste the colour on him, drink it up to judge whether it lives up to its promise. He wants to have his colour spread over his body until he is covered in the man.

The same colour rushes to his cheeks, deepening his skin and filling it with life.

Kiss me, he thinks. In his frenzy, he is afraid he might have said it out loud. Kiss me. For everything holy and unholy in this world. Kiss me.

His face feels hot, and he knows he is blushing, too.

James exhales a held breath. They are so close Regulus can feel it on his face. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

James’ hand moves away from the kitten and to Regulus’ cheek. He brushes a curl out of his face.

He sees James swallow heavily and blush even deeper.

“Jamie,” Regulus whispers between them.

James comes back to himself when he speaks and draws back, so suddenly, he pulls the strand of hair with him.

“My apologies,” James mumbles, letting go of the hair. “I was too close, wasn’t I?”

“No,” He says quickly and blushes in turn. “You couldn’t.”

James smiles shyly. “Once, you said I was being too close.”

“Oh, Jamie, never take the things I say in my insecurity to doubt yourself. Don’t listen to me when you know I’m being moody.”

James smirks. “Aren’t you always moody, darling?”

“Possibly,” He shrugs. “I am horribly complicated, no?”

“No,” James smiles and pushes the strand of hair in place again. “Not horribly.”

Kiss me, he wanted to say before James drew back. He wanted to beg him if that was what was needed.

The moment passed, and Regulus’ lips feel horribly cold and abandoned.

***

Regulus assembled Sirius, Pandora, and Barty in his study. Pandora is enamoured with the kittens – as any sane person would be.

Sirius feels indifferent towards them – case in point.

Barty is still of the opinion that Icare should like him more than he does, ignoring that Thanatos has chosen him as the second trustworthy person in this house.

“So, why are we here?” Sirius asks finally, as he is the only one out of the four not to fawn over the kittens.

“Do you have anything better to do?” Regulus asks. “Apologising to butlers, maybe? No? Then, sit down. Have a cat.”

Regulus holds Hélios out to him.

“I don’t want a cat.”

“Hold the cat,” Regulus insists, placing him in Sirius’ lap. He sighs deeply and starts to pet the little furball. “Very good.”

“I still can’t believe James got you not only one cat but three. Why is he like that?”

“Good question,” Regulus agrees. “That is why you’re here.”

“To analyse James Potter’s behaviour? Mon petit, you need a group of doctors for that.”

“If I put a group of doctors into this room, all of us will end up in an asylum.”

No one bothers to disagree.

“I wish to speak about James,” Regulus says, like starting a grand speech. “So, I have assembled all of those that have told me repeatedly that he feels for me as a husband should.”

Barty raises an eyebrow at him. “Is that French for ‘he wants to fuck you until you can’t spell your own name anymore’ ?”

“Mr Crouch,” Sirius gasps. “How dare you use such language with my little brother?”

“Sorry? Has His Excellency heard of the kind of language his petit brother uses?”

Pandora speaks up. “You are impossible, Mr Crouch. Lord James is very virtuous. He would treat Lord Regulus with nothing but the utmost respect.”

“Yes, sure. He still wants to bed him.”

Regulus clears his throat. “May we return to the subject of why I brought you here? Good. There have been… situations in which I may have been inclined to think what all of you theorise might be true.”

Barty rolls his eyes. “Black, I need a translation for this. I don’t speak ‘virgin’ very well.”

“I will have great fun to remove your cock from your balls at your next utterance, Crouch,” Sirius mutters. “You are not to comment on my brother’s sensual matters.”

Barty smirks. “Reg, speak clearly.”

“I thought maybe James wanted to kiss me at times and felt for me romantically. But he never kissed me. I don’t understand why.”

“Because he’s stupid?” Barty offers.

“It does not matter. Since you three are convinced that he feels for me and wants to kiss me, it is now your turn to tell me how to make him do it. I am open to suggestions. I’m getting impatient.”

Barty shrugs. “Simple. Kiss him.”

“What?”

“Kiss. Him. If he doesn’t get around to it, you need to get active. Kiss him.”

“I can’t just… just do that. Why if he does not want to after all?”

“My Lord, excuse me, but don’t you think he might wonder the same thing? If you both believe it and wait for the other to initiate first, it will never happen,” Pandora says.

Regulus sighs and turns to his brother.

“Oh, do not ask me. Have you not heard? Love is dead. Or non-existent. Whichever it was.” He makes a throwaway gesture and sets the kitten on the ground.

Regulus frowns. “You’re useless, Sirius. Barty, you’re too perverted. Pandora…” he looks at the pretty girl smiling up at him with no ill bone inside her. “You are amazing and can’t do wrong. Still, not helpful.”

Barty snorts. “Our dear Jamsie is a romantic,” he says. “He gifts you cats and takes you out to the theatre. What have you done? Man up, Reg. Take charge. Do something romantic with him. Make your intentions clear.”

Pandora nods. “If you both have the same worry, you need to make sure he knows that you love him. He will be more likely to confess to you when he is sure of that.”

Regulus groans. “He confessed to Lily countless times without her reciprocating his feelings.”

“Haven’t I told you that he likes you more than Lily?” Sirius asks. “He won’t want to lose you and your companionship with a rushed confession.” He silences himself and looks away.

“Court him a little,” Barty shrugs. “Make an effort.”

“Ugh. Why can’t I just be handsome and in his vicinity? Can’t that be enough?”

“I mean, sure. As a French lady and the future countess, there wouldn’t be more to be done. But you’re not that, are you? The courting responsibilities typically lie with the men, my dear.”

“And if I wish to disperse with gender traditions?”

“You’ll die unkissed.”

“You say horrible things. Sirius, he says horrible things to me.”

“Have you considered telling James you wish to kiss him?”

“Have you considered telling Remus you are sorry and love him still?”

Sirius glares at him.

“You are all useless. Pandora?”

“I like Mr Crouch’s idea. You could court James as he courts you.”

“James does not court me,” Regulus says, confused, which earns him a round of disagreeing looks.

Barty lifts up the kitten, repeating in a terrible French accent, “James does not court me.”

***

Regulus is a Frenchman. His ancestors have fought revolutions and beheaded kings. He is capable of courting James.

“I’m showing the kittens the music room today. Will you join me? It’s been so long since I played last,” he says to James in the morning. It sounds stupid. Is he ridiculous for carrying the kittens around, showing them to each and every room separately?

Be that as it may, James agrees enthusiastically. “But you have to play for me,” he says.

Now, Regulus is waiting in the music room. Hélios is trying to jump on a stool far too high for him. Icare is watching him and attempts a similar thing on a smaller sofa. Thanatos roams the room and scares himself when Regulus puts him on the piano, and the devilish thing makes music when he puts his little paws on the keys.

James enters. Regulus suddenly remembers that his ancestors, specifically, were aristocrats and not part of the revolution at all. Regulus himself was conceived shortly before the collapse of the Second Empire and born just days before the Franco-Prussian war came to an end – with a defeat for France, of course – into a family of Anglo-French monarchists and murderers. His grandfather immigrated during the July Monarchy and married the first girl of somewhat adequate social standing he could find. Titles and money have gradually dwindled since, leaving Regulus’s brother with no title in France and significantly less money than they pretend to have.

All in all, the French Blacks have not been very successful in anything. They weren’t even French for all of the revolutions and scarcely on the victory side of them.

Regulus fails to see how he is supposed to become the first Black successful in anything good.

“Have I ever told you how handsome you look sitting at a piano?” James asks.

“Not today, no.”

James smiles and approaches him. “You look very handsome at the piano. I love seeing you play.” He scoops up Thanatos, who is trying to wind out of James’ hands almost immediately. “Play something for us.”

James collects the three kittens and sits on a sofa with them.

“What do you want me to play?”

“The one I like so much. I can never remember the name, but the one you played for me before.”

Regulus sinks his trained fingers into the keys and begins to play the song James favours. When he looks up, he finds the man lying on the sofa, the three kittens stretched out on his body. James lazily pets one of them lying on his chest. Icare decided to wrap himself around James’ neck. He looks so soft, and Regulus wants to join him and receive the same warmth from him.

James opens his eyes and glances over. “Why did you stop?”

Regulus looks at his hands. He didn’t even notice.

“Come here,” Regulus says.

“But I have cats on me.”

Regulus wants to kiss him a hundred times over.

James slowly picks up the kittens and sets them on the ground. He pulls his clothes straight and walks to the piano.

“Sit with me.” Regulus scoots on the stool to make space for him.

James doesn’t hesitate. Their shoulders press together.

“You have had piano lessons as a child, yes?”

“Yes, though they were utterly wasted on me. I never had the patience for it.”

“Strange. I think you are a very patient man.”

“Not when I have to sit still. If you had known me better in my youth, you wouldn’t have liked me much, I’m afraid.”

“I didn’t like you much when we met. You were too loud. Too wild. You knew how to be proper but didn’t care enough to be most times.”

James chuckled. “You should have seen me at sixteen, worse, at 13! I was a terror. Your brother and I made each other worse, too. We were like children, never happy with peace and quiet.”

Regulus chuckles. Sirius and James are much alike. They grew apart in personality in recent years, but when Regulus first met James, they were of the same making through and through. Except that Regulus loved his brother dearly, and James was a nuisance. He was an intruder who came to lure Sirius away.

“I would have grown to like you either way, even if we had met when you were 13.”

James smiles with far more shyness than Regulus had thought him capable.

“I will teach you to play the song that you like.”

“So you don’t have to play for me anymore?”

Regulus looks at him with all the sincerity he can muster. “I will always play for you.”

James blushes lightly. It is the height of summer, and James’s skin had turned significantly darker than in January. Regulus can still make out the deepening of colour.

“Put your fingers here, here and there.”

James finds the keys that mark the beginning of the song. Regulus places his hand on the same keys, one set up.

He begins to play the first notes of the piece. James attempts to copy him. His big hands and long fingers come in handy for this.

James is gentle with the piano, like he is afraid to break it if he adds too much pressure. He pouts when he slips and pushes his glasses up into his hair when they are at it for an hour. He laughs when Regulus slips into French because he doesn’t have the words he needs for this in English. He teaches him the English words and leans into him to whisper them in his ear.

Regulus is a bundle of nerves. His mind is occupied by the way James’ shoulder presses into his and how his breath hits his cheeks when he whispers to him.

“Non, non. Slow down. It is easier to do it slowly until you have it and then speed up. Let me show you.” Regulus places his hand on top of James’s. His skin is burning hot against his own. Regulus intertwines their fingers until he can control James’ movements. He plays the melody with him. This time, he makes no mistake. They play it again. Then another time, faster.

Regulus looks up at him with a smile of satisfaction and pride for them both. When he lifts his head, he finds James not looking at the keys but at him.

It wouldn’t take much more than losing his balance for his lips to graze James’s.

“I love seeing you play,” James whispers. “Sometimes it is like the piano was made for your hands only. It even exceeds the pleasure of watching you with the violin.”

Regulus’ eyes don’t leave James’ lips. Their hands still rest on top of each other.

James spreads his fingers so Regulus can slot his between them. They fit perfectly together.

Regulus can feel his heart beat rapidly through his body. He fears that James might hear it and see him shake in its rhythm. Regulus wishes to drink him up and learn his taste for hours until he knows him by proximity alone.

“My darling,” James whispers. “Can I-“

James is cut off by the doors flying open. He quickly pulls away, and Regulus’ romantic inclination is replaced by homicidal ideation.

“There you are!” Sirius shouts. Regulus might add fratricide to his list of dreams.

“What do you want?”

“I only came to inform you that I will be leaving. In fact I will leave in an hour by the next train.” He turns on his heel again and throws the doors shut.

Regulus jumps up to follow him.

“Regulus,” James calls after him.

“Will you please take the kittens back upstairs? I need to speak with him before he leaves.”

Regulus rushes out of the music room. He catches up with Sirius quickly and follows him up to his rooms.

“Did something happen? Why are you leaving, Sirius?”

“I have to. It is decided.”

“But why? Do you think it will help? I don’t.”

“No? And what do you know? Huh? Nothing helps, Regulus. Nothing can help. I broke too much. I ruined it all. I – I need to go. I cannot be in the same house as him anymore.”

“Why the sudden shift in blame? You insisted it was him who ruined you.”

Sirius already packed his luggage. He picks them up and pushes a bag into Regulus’ arms. “Oh, please. You are the clever one of us. I have done damage beyond repair. How can I still be in the same house as him? How? I can’t. It proves impossible. I cannot make it up. I cannot make it better. I cannot do anything but hate myself. And I don’t have to be here to do so.”

“But what about me?”

Sirius looks at him and sighs. “You will be fine. Mon petit, do not look at me like that. You will break my heart even more. You looked at me the same when I left home for the first time.”

“Because I was not sure you would come back.”

Sirius drops his luggage. He puts his hands on Regulus’ shoulders and kisses his forehead. “I won’t go far. I will go to London.”

“London?” Regulus frowns. Sirius is fond of every city of questionable morality, but he would choose any continental city over all the abysses of England. “Why London?”

“It is a nice city. I like to spend some time there.”

Regulus doesn’t believe him.

“Should you miss me too terribly, you can always come to visit me, mon petit. I will stay at my club, but I'll come to you if you open Gryffindor House. But I cannot bear to be in this house anymore. It holds too many bad memories. And the good ones are turned vile, too.”

Sirius picks up the bags again. “Send me off, will you?”

Regulus nods and follows him downstairs.

***

Sirius’ sudden departure inspired restless impatience in James. Yesterday, it would have been right. Yesterday, the moment was set, Regulus was beside him, and nothing in the world could have brought him greater happiness than to close that minimal distance between them.

Now, he fears two things: One, that Regulus might start to overthink and never again let him come as close as yesterday. And two, that Regulus should feel inspired to follow his brother.

It is true that the brothers have been apart many times for extended durations. Since the wedding, Regulus and Sirius have spent more time apart than together. But this may cause exactly what James fears now. Whenever Sirius left Regulus, it was a flight. He always left in distress, and Regulus knew he was better for it. Now, Sirius’ distress is even greater and isn’t aided by distance. It chases him far further than usual to places where Regulus’ letters might not reach him, and he returns worse than before.

If James is correct in his assessment of the person he loves dearly, Regulus won’t let Sirius go to Algeria again.

“It is only London,” Regulus said yesterday, more to assure himself than to inform James. At dinner, he was cold and angry with Lupin as if to continue the punishment where Sirius left off.

James asked him not to be dreadful to Lupin, for he wasn’t to blame for Sirius’ departure. In answer, Regulus cursed in French, and reminded him that Sirius’ motives concerned Lupin and Lupin alone and that James understands nothing of the love between a little sibling and an older one. The more years between them, the greater the love, so their love exceeds James’ comprehension four times. After this, he retired. Barty, who was in the drawing room with them, laughed and said, “Did you ask Lupin for help in how to get rid of a Black brother? Because that was a truly skilful display.”

During breakfast, Regulus is still cold toward Lupin but retires his hostility. James still contemplates imploring the gardeners to keep Regulus away from the gardening sheers, remembering that it was explicitly one of Sirius’ scorned lovers he mutilated back then.

He wants Regulus to return to the softness and romance they shared in the music room the day before.

Finally, while daydreaming, he has an idea. “Go stargazing with me tonight,” He asks Regulus. “Take a nap now and go Stargazing with me.”

Regulus looks at him confused, sitting on the ground and acquainting the kittens with the second sitting room.

“Will you go stargazing with me?”

Regulus blinks at him in mild confusion. “Yes?”

“Good. Great. I know the perfect spot for it. We should meet at 11 by the glass doors leading to the terrace.

“Okay. It sounds lovely.”

“It will be,” James smiles.

At exactly 11, Regulus meets James by the terrace. He took off his dinner jacket and switched it for a midnight blue with a pattern of silver on it far too elaborate for a midnight picnic.

“Is that new?” James asks because he wants to say something and can’t think of anything better.

“Do you like it?”

Very much. The rich colour contrasts with his white skin and enhances the rosy blush in his cheeks and lips.

“You look very handsome in it.”

Regulus smiles. James hands him a lamp and picks up a basket, then he offers his arm. Regulus rolls his eyes at him and calls him an idiot in French. He takes his arm still and follows him outside.

James takes him across the estate, to an elevated point with a clear view at the night sky. He takes a blanket from the basket and spreads it on the grass.

From the basket, James further takes a bottle of wine, but no glasses, and a bowl of biscuits.

“I always loved the night sky,” James says as he lies down and looks up at the stars. Regulus lies beside him.

“Me, too. I studied it when I was younger. I read all of our astronomy books and tracked the cycle of the moon. I stayed up all hours of the night, just staring out of the window.”

James can just picture it – little Regulus pressing his hands and nose against the windowpane in the French countryside, counting the stars above. “Your family is very much interested in Astronomy, is it?”

“Not particularly, no.” He shrugs. “Why?”

James frowns confused. “You and your family members are all named after stars and constellations, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes.” He smiles and looks at the sky with searching eyes. “Still, for my parents it was just tradition, not interest.”

“Yet, you chose a name matching the tradition, didn’t you? Regulus. Alpha Leonis. One of the Ancient Stars of Persia who guarded the four districts of the sky. You are the Watcher of the North and the Element of Fire. But the Roman name means Little King.”

Regulus turns to him with a curious expression of surprise. “Did you research my name?”

“Yes. Some time ago. I saw you interact with your parents, and wondered why you’d choose a name so connected to them and your family. I wanted to read one or two phrases… I got carried away. I read about every book in our library about you.”

Regulus smiles warmly and scoots closer to him on the blanket. James is instantly aware of his heartbeat picking up.

“Have I ever told you,” Regulus whispered, “how very touching it is how much you care?”

James smiles at him. “I was afraid you’d think I was being stupid and wasted my time.”

“Your time is yours. I won’t tell you to not spend it on me.” He looks back at the sky. He points at a particularly bright star. “There I am. Brightest star in the constellation of Le Lion.”

“Heart of it,” James remembers. “The Heart of the Leo.”

“Oui. My brother was born in its sign. That is why I chose it.”

James chuckles. “Sometimes when you talk with or about each other, one might think you hate being in the same room. Other times, it is the clearest thing on earth how much you and Sirius love each other.”

Regulus hums, then points at another star. “There he is. Sirius. The brightest star in Le Grand Chien.”

“The brightest star in the entire sky, isn’t he?”

“Yes. But do not remind him. He thinks it means something.”

James laughs. “I think you choosing your name means something.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you are the Heart of Leo. You married me, making you effectively the Heart of Lyo-pot, too. And Lioncrest. Maybe it was always your destiny to end up here.”

Regulus rolls his eyes but smiles. “Lions are big in your family, yes. I did not know when I chose the name.”

“I know. As I said: Destiny. Fate.”

“If I tell you that I don’t believe in either?”

“Then you, my darling, are a fool.”

“A fool?”

“Yes. It has to be fate. I was born in the sign of Leo, too, and you married me. You are too intelligent to believe in such coincidences.”

“You rather have it be fate?”

“Yes. Without fate, there are no soulmates. Without soulmates, there is no – how did you put it? - L'amour de la folie.” James bites his tongue when he realises the implications of his words.

If he argues Regulus and his marriage to be fate, and connects soulmates to the same fate, he is essentially calling them this. Too fast. Too much. Who in their right mind says such a thing? This is the kind of behaviour that-

“James,” Regulus interrupts his noisy brain and pulls his attention to himself, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” James's voice is thin and high. He clears his throat and reaches for the wine. “Of course.”

Regulus waits until James put the wine away and settled on the blanket again.

“Why do you never kiss me?”

James’ heart skips a beat. His body tenses up, and his brain blanks for an answer. Did he understand that question correctly? Is he telling him to stop? Or is he telling him to do it? James starts to sweat.

Either not noticing or ignoring James’ state, Regulus continues. “A few times now, …I thought you might want to… but you never did.”

James swallows heavily, wishing for more wine. “I… I wasn’t sure you’d want me to…”

Regulus turns his head to look at him with clear, silver eyes, his face only half-illuminated by the warm candlelight of the lamp. “I would have told you in no uncertain terms if I didn’t want you to.”

As if to make up for the beat it missed before, James’ heart is racing in his chest. “You want to kiss me? Do you want me to kiss you?”

“Want,” Regulus repeats with a smile like the thought is laughable. “Oh, what a weak word it is for it, Jamie.”

James forgets how to breathe, think and move for a second. It comes back to him like a bolt of lightning flashing through his body. With all the desperation and impatience of a starving man, he rolls to the side, cups Regulus’ cheek and catches his lips in a kiss.

Regulus wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him closer until the matter of bodies stops them from melting into each other. It isn’t proper. It doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters because James is kissing Regulus.

He tastes the wine on his lips. Regulus kisses him like he has never wanted anything else in his life. They look like two madmen chasing the first taste of long-sought sanity. James realises he was indeed mad. He was burning alive without knowing, removing himself forcefully from the only power to save him. Regulus is, to the burning man, a pool of cool water. To the drowning man, the safe shoreline. And to the faithless man, the harbinger of God.

They break apart out of necessity more than willingness. James looks down at the man in his arms. His lips are wet and swollen. James can’t help but think that everything looks right about this. This is how they should be: In each other’s arms, with no one else on their minds, and lips pressed together.

James traces Regulus’ cheek. His hand is trembling with disbelief.

A smile grows on Regulus’ face, directed at no one but him. James counts himself the luckiest man alive.

Regulus slides his hands from his shoulders up his neck to his cheeks. They are cool against James’ burning skin. He pushes the golden-rimmed glasses up into James’ hair, and pulls him back to him until their lips can meet again.

He kisses him slowly, this time. He kisses him like he has all the time in the world and will be able to do this whenever he pleases for as long as they both live.

In all its softness and tenderness, it is nothing like their first kiss at their wedding. That one was nothing by contrast. A mere peck. A pressing of skin, chaste and quick. This is all-consuming, unrestrained devotion.

Now, ‘Want’ seems a weak word indeed.

***

Chapter Text

“I could have lived for some years in deadly sin with him, feasting upon his fascinating beauty.” Teleny 57

Regulus wakes up a new man.

Feeling James’ lips on his and being kissed like a proper lover fundamentally changed something about his person and his life. Although he hates change as a principle, he is humming with excitement about this change. It may be the first good one.

Regulus needs a long time to get ready this morning. He slept in after being escorted back to his rooms some time between night and morning.

Then he spent an hour telling Pandora every detail of the past evening while she dressed him and did his hair.

He only leaves his room when he is absolutely positive James would have to exercise the greatest self-restraint not to kiss him again.

He enters the breakfast room. James looks up at once. He takes him in, then smiles.

“Good Morning,” Regulus says simply and takes to his breakfast.

“Morning,” James sounds breathless. “You look very handsome this morning.”

“Very handsome,” Regulus repeats. “Isn’t it early for such big compliments? How will you enhance those throughout the day?”

“Do not underestimate me. I have a diary, dreams, and an aversion to backing down from challenges.”

Regulus passes him and touches his shoulder when he takes to his seat.

“Then I must look forward to how this day progresses.”

James leans closer to him. “I’m looking forward to it too. Especially when you and I will spend every minute of it together.”

Regulus smiles at him over his coffee. James moves his hand until he almost touches his wrist.

Regulus puts the coffee down and licks his lips. James watches him, which makes him chuckle, and James blushes in turn.

“Oh God!” Barty exclaims suddenly. Regulus has barely registered his presence at the table. “Did you finally fuck?!”

James chokes on his own spit and blushes even deeper.

Regulus looks at his friend, unimpressed. “No.”

Barty squints at him. “Yes, you did.”

“No. You are being crazy again.”

“Yeah,” James clears his throat. “You have spiders on your ceiling.”

Regulus smiles to himself. Barty points his knife at him, then at James, and back. “Something happened between you two. I know it.”

“Oui. Something happened.” Regulus shrugs and turns back to his breakfast.

Barty frowns at him. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I will just let my imagination run free.”

James pulls a face. “Ew. I’d never do to him the perversions you’re cooking up in that sideways brain of yours.”

Barty looks at Regulus with a sigh. “My condolences.”

Not that Regulus would ever admit it aloud, but he pities himself for James’ words. He can only assume Barty thinks of the most fun things James could do with him.

***

After breakfast, Regulus and James make up a lie or two and escape their responsibilities and nosy staff until they are alone in the library.

James gets there first. He has his eyes locked on the entryway to the library when Regulus joins him.

The excitement is radiating off the man. He is excited for Regulus – excited to be in his presence. God, what an insane thought.

“Hey, took you long enough.”

Regulus smirks and walks around the sofa James is sitting on. “I was not aware I was on a schedule.”

He places his hands on James’s shoulders.

“Don’t break my heart and tell me you didn’t long to see me, my darling.”

Regulus smiles. He runs his hands down James’ chest until he can nestle his head between his shoulder and his neck. “Hm, and if I tell you I did long for you, will you promise not to let it go to your head, sunshine?”

James turns to him with a smirk. “I will absolutely let it go to my head.”

Regulus gently pushes their lips together. James turns his body to him and tangles his fingers in Regulus’ curls.

James smiles with his eyes closed when Regulus pulls away. “Hm, so it wasn’t a dream.”

Regulus chuckles and kisses his cheek before pushing himself away from him. He picks the glasses off James’ nose and walks around the sofa until he is in James’ reach again and can be pulled in by him until he is settled against his side. “You think finally kissing me was a dream?” Regulus teases.

“It’s the stuff of my sweetest dreams,” James whispers and leads his hand to his lips to kiss Regulus’ fingers. “And now it is my reality, too. Oh, what a lucky man I am.”

Regulus wraps his arms around him and kisses him again.

James is a gentleman even when he kisses. He kisses him with all the hunger of love-fed insanity, but when his hands drop from his face to his waist, he never dares to run them along the lines of Regulus’ body. He presses his fingers into the delicate fabrics of Regulus’ jacket. His unconsciousness wants to move beyond it, peel the layers of clothes off Regulus’ body, but his chivalrous nature and gentle upbringing prevent him from committing such insolence.

Regulus wasn’t brought up like this. He was always taught restraint, but to the point where he dreamed of nothing else but breaking that restraint and doing what he had forbidden himself.

He cannot stop touching James. He does not want to stop touching him. He savours the feeling of warmth under his hands when he touches his cheeks. He passes his fingers over and along James’ clothes, slipping them past the lapel and grazing the waistcoat underneath.

Regulus decides that people wear far too many clothes.

It doesn’t matter. Every thread that lies between his fingers and his lover’s skin will be disposed of sooner or later.

James pulls him closer by his waist. Before James parts his lips and Regulus mirrors him, they are already acting far too scandalous for the prude English. They are alone but not in a marital bedroom. Proper people would never display such passion. – that’s why proper people cannot make good lovers.

Regulus rejoices in the realisation that his handsome, kind and proper husband is, in fact, a passionate and needy lover. Then again, he is a romantic, and romantic men can never be truly proper. The suggestion of displaying such devotion and sensuality for a person is inherently improper.

Regulus has no experience and very little knowledge of what he is doing but relies on the instinct of passion.

The tip of James’ tongue grazes him and slips past his lips. Regulus’ cheeks turn hot, but he runs his fingers through James’ hair and presses his body against his.

They pull apart to come up for air, and James's grip around his body turns even tighter.

“Are you going to return my glasses to me?” James whispers between them.

“No, not yet,” Regulus teases, spinning the glasses' temple between his fingers.

“If you break them, I can never look at you again. Imagine how sad my life would be.”

“Would your life be ruined then?”

“Utterly! You’d take the most beautiful sight away from me.”

“But you would see everything to the same degree, no? Would you not think me attractive anymore just because I was blurry?”

James hums. “You’ll be the most handsome blur.”

Regulus chuckles and pushes a kiss to his cheek. “Idiot. Stupide, stupide, charmant crétin.”

James grins at him. “Oh, my darling one, don’t insult me in French. It makes me want to kiss you even more.”

“ Tête de noeud,” Regulus whispers and kisses him. “Beau tête de noeud.”

James hums against his lips and kisses him playfully, making Regulus laugh against him.

The part of Regulus that was just freed from his restraints wants to climb this man and make their bodies touch everywhere. His upbringing, the English countryside, and James’ romantic nature hold him back. He simply leans into him and lets himself be kissed and touched however James desires.

A clearing of the throat interrupts them. Lupin needs to repeat himself thrice before Regulus, grumbling, pulls back from his husband. He puts the glasses back on his face, glaring at Lupin.

“Terribly sorry to interrupt,” Lupin says, not even attempting to sound genuine, “but the agent is here to speak about the sheep farm on the southern hill.”

James groans and leans his head against Regulus’ shoulder.

“We have a sheep farm?” Regulus asks.

“Not yet,” James mumbles. “Do you like sheep?”

“I never thought about it. I assume you need the library?”

“Unfortunately. You could stay, of course.”

Regulus sighs and kisses his face. “No, I’ll go look after the kittens.” He cups James’ cheeks and pushes quick kisses to his lips. “Find me when you’re done.”

James is unwilling to let him go. He pulls him back in for more innocent kisses whenever Regulus attempts to stand up. Remus clears his throat again, finally leading to the men pulling apart.

Regulus passes the agent waiting in the corridor. He has an ill-mannered son but is one of those old men whose lack of imagination successfully prevents him from suspecting any going-ons concerning Regulus and the Viscountess. Regulus, therefore, likes to accompany James to his dealings with the agent. He also likes to stay away from the man, as he is mind-numbingly traditional and boring.

He stops in the middle of the stairs when he hears Hélios meowing. The kittens are supposed to be in the study in their designated area.

Regulus is cautious with where they are allowed to go. They might get lost on the big estate or have an unfortunate run-in with the larger animals.

Hélios, the little adventurer, jumped from the top of the stairs to the third step. Icare is watching him from the top, reaching his paw down to the step and pulling back when he can’t get to it.

“What are you tiny scoundrels doing?” Regulus says in French. He decided to raise the kittens bilingually. He picks them up and carries them back to the study. “You know you are too young to walk around on your own, little ones.”

Unsurprisingly, he finds Barty in the study, trying to interest Thanatos in a treat.

“Did you let the kittens out?”

“Hm? No, they climbed your barrier on their own.”

“But you did not close the door.”

“How would you know? Maybe the dumb one jumped up and opened it.”

Regulus kisses Hélios’ head. “Did evil Uncle Barty call you dumb? Poor darling.”

“I did not say whom I meant. So, you agree, he is the dumb one.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, kicks the door shut and places the kittens back in their area.

He sits next to Barty and feeds them with treats.

“So... tell me everything,” Barty says with a grin.

“About what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. About you and James. I want to know everything: The positions you used, how long he lasted, where it happened, and how often. Is he big? How big?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Barty, we only kissed. Why would you think we went to bed together?”

“Because if you had a dick, you’d have a constant boner for the man.”

Regulus clicks his tongue. “Do you always have to be so crass?”

Barty snorts. “Oh, my apologies. Did I insult your French sensibilities? We both know you want that man on top of you. Naked.”

Regulus stays silent. Barty is correct on all accounts, of course, but an agreement will only go to his head.

Barty sighs, annoyed. “You are so boring, Reg. At least give me some details on the kiss.”

Regulus pets Hélios with a smile. “It was very nice.”

“I hate you.”

“He is an excellent kisser. He is so... passionné. He smells good, and tastes good, and touches and holds me very well.”